Date: 2012-12-12 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Young Adult; Dystopia; Science Fiction; Romance; Aliens; Post Apocalyptic; Fantasy; Fiction; Apocalyptic; Paranormal
Description: A broken and desolate Earth. A young girl struggling to survive. A lost boy with a powerful secret. A discovery that will change everything. In the distant wake of a plague that has decimated the Earth's population, humanity is split in two: The rich and powerful live in skycities that float overhead, while those who remain on the ground have gathered in settlements strewn across a dying planet. Eighteen-year-old Terra Rhodon is a terrestrial--a denizen of the barren groundworld--who makes her living as a scav. Long abandoned by her father, her caregivers gone, Terra supports herself and her y
Publisher: Hopewell Media

Terra

Terrestrials: Book I

Gretchen Powell

Copyright 2012 by Gretchen Powell. All rights reserved.

No part of this book or the characters within may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express permission of the copyright owner, except in the instance of quotes or excerpts for review or marketing purposes.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are completely fictional, and any reference to real places or events is used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people or occurrences, past or present, is purely coincidental.

Published by Hopewell Media, LLC

Cover design by Cassie Johnston

Edited by Aileen Brenner

Copyedited by Lori Renner

ISBN: 978-0-9884689-0-0

Please visit the author’s website at

http://gretchenpowell.com.

for my brother, Ben,
the family trailblazer

-
and my sister, Jenny,
for always asking
what comes next

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

Chapter 1

“Terra?” Mica’s voice, heavy with sleep, seeps out his half-open door. “Where are you going?”

Damn, I think. I was trying to be quiet. Lightening my step, I go stand in his doorway and lean my shoulder against the frame. His ancient computer blinks softly on his desk. I walk over and shut the monitor off.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say softly. “You don’t need to be up yet. Go back to sleep.” Through the grime-streaked window above my brother’s head, I see the soft gray light of early morning beginning to peek through. I need to get a move on.

“You got it, chief…” Mica buries his face in his pillow. I hover over him for a few moments, waiting for his breathing to slow, before quietly drawing his door back to its half-closed position. I’m careful not to close it all the way. Even now, after all this time, he still won’t sleep with the door shut.

I walk back into the main room. Our apartment’s layout is based on Floor Plan #4, which means our bedrooms empty out into one large, square room that serves as foyer, living area, and dining room in one. Our bedrooms flank a tiny bathroom that we share, and on the other side of the main room, the kitchen sits in an alcove. In one deft movement, I grab my bag from a hook near the front door and am off.

Thankfully, at this hour it’s still cool out. The sun has barely crested over the horizon. I loop the strap of my blue scavenging bag over my shoulder and zip my black jacket up halfway. The air is thick, as it always is. I know that the sun will be blazing by the time I get back, but I take it as a good sign that there’s even the slightest of breezes this morning. It’s two miles to settlement limits, and I'm headed a good deal farther than that; the longer I can go without breaking into my water canteen, the better.

The streets are quiet. The few people who are up at this time of day will all be out by the docks, getting ready for the bustle of morning business. I choose my route to the southern wall carefully nonetheless. I skim along the outskirts of town, darting along side roads and occasionally throwing a glance behind me to make sure I’m not being tracked.

It might be a little paranoid of me, but you really can’t be too careful around here. Last month, a boy from the East Quadrant was nearly beaten to death by a group of men who swore they saw him sneaking extra food pills into his pack after the Rationing. When they ripped the bag off his back, there was nothing inside but his scavenging spoils from the day before. The mob fought over the bits of copper wire and scrap metal anyway.

Once I clear the limits of the South Quadrant, I start to breathe a little easier. Slowing my pace, I root around in my bag for breakfast. I pull out a white pill bottle, twist off the cap and shake one of the large brown pills into my palm. The bottle rattles noisily, reminding me that there are only a couple of pills left inside.

Mmm, I think sarcastically as I read the bottle’s label. B-E665. So tasty. I unhook my water canteen from the side of my bag and pop the pill in my mouth, trying not to shudder as I wash it down. Bitter as the “meal” tastes, I feel energized immediately. I pick up my pace as I head toward the edge of town.

Reaching the boundary wall, I toss a wary eye behind me before I begin to climb. I’m alone for now, but others will be venturing into the plains soon enough, competing with me in scouring the fields for whatever useful bits and pieces that might have dropped from the trash barges that pass overhead. I want to ensure there’s plenty of distance behind me when they do.

Gran told Mica and me once that, long ago, before her father’s father was born, the walls surrounding Genesis X-16 were a hundred feet high, and the black dystridium brick was smooth as glass. Still feeling the scars of the Skyfall—the catastrophe that brought civilization to a grinding halt centuries ago—the founders of Sixteen built a protective dome that grew from the top of the wall, encapsulating our entire settlement. The giant ceiling acted as a UV filter that kept out both the acid rain and the harsh sun, akin to the ones that still encapsulate the skycities floating above us.

A single gate was built into the northernmost wall as the sole way to get in and out of the settlement. Of course, after the UV filter was destroyed, it wasn’t long before scavs began finding more convenient routes to the outside.

Since the gate is up in the North Quadrant, most scavs don’t bother going that way to get into the plains. It’s not just that it’s out of the way; most of us don’t like dealing with the hoity-toities who live in that part of Sixteen. I’ve only used the main gate a handful of times myself, on the few occasions when I’ve brought Mica out with me. It’s not like what we’re doing is illegal—scavenging is a regular part of life down here. But scavs don’t exactly like to have guardsmen breathing down our necks, so we prefer to climb over the western or southern walls instead.

As it stands now, the southern wall is no more than fifteen feet at its highest point, so I have little trouble climbing up the jagged brick. As always, I’m careful to avoid the remnants of broken glass that still stick out from the top. Soon, I’m jumping down on the other side, kicking up a cloud of dry earth behind me as I land.

The sun has settled in a spot halfway up the cloudless sky; in this light, the dusty brown landscape seems to stretch on forever. Patches of dead weeds line either side of my path, crumbling from the light breeze my boots make sweeping past them. The glint of something buried halfway in the dirt catches my eye. I stoop down and see a pair of small metal plates, maybe three or four inches across, slightly bent in the middle and with holes in the corner where screws would normally go.

Meh, I think, shrugging as I stand. They’re not a bad find as far as generics go, but I decide to leave them for the other poor schleps to fight over. It is Collection Day, after all. All the scavs will be out in full force. The more stuff found just outside town, the less likely others will bother venturing out to where I’m going. I kick some dust over my boot prints and set off again with light steps.

No trails, I remind myself. I don’t want some curious latecomer following me and cashing in on my almost-secret treasure trove. As I trudge on, the ground begins to slope down, and before long I see the tips of barren trees in the distance.

Another half-mile covered and I’ve reached the Dead Woods. I make my way south through the empty forest; the farther I walk, the less space there is between the trees. Scavengers rarely bother coming this far out from town. The woods are the only physical barrier between Sixteen and the District—the sprawling landscape of ruins that used to house one of the groundworld’s greatest cities. A quarantine line wraps around the ruined city to warn us away too, but a few beams of red light don’t provide quite the same sense of security as a petrified forest. Plus, for most, the spoils are hardly ever worth the journey out to the woods, given the risk of your findings being stolen by raiders on the way back.

For those of us who know where to look, however, the odds of finding something worth collecting are much higher out here. Metal generics drop all over the place, but plastic is where the real money is. Mica tried to explain to me once why that is. Something to do with dried up fuel sources or something. I admit that I don’t care too much about the specifics. All I care about is that it’s worth a pretty penny, and the placement of the petrified trees out here makes it far less likely for someone else to scoop up the rare scrap of the stuff. And as for the raiders… Well, I know these woods like the back of my hand. They’ve never even had the chance to get close to me. Though I wish I could say the same for some other scavs.

I weave my way through the thick trunks, the path I forge growing narrower as the roots that have broken through the ground begin to overlap, overtaking the forest floor. I’m less than a quarter-mile in when I start to see the first recyclables, discarded by skyworld citizens without a second thought.

One man’s trash, I think bitterly. I doubt they even realize how quickly they would run out of their luxuries if we weren’t down here, working in their recycling plants and scavenging for their leftovers. It’s not like these resources just grow in the ground, after all. Not anymore.

With my eyes fixed on the ground, I walk with deliberate steps between the withered trees. Back and forth, then over two paces and back again. I stop occasionally to pick up lengths of wire and screws that sparsely pepper the ground, adding them to my bag alongside the pile I gathered earlier in the week. The work is consuming, and at one point I have to force myself to choke down my last food pill.

I’m vividly aware of the sun, which has long since peaked in the sky, beating down through the leafless branches. I roll the sleeves of my jacket up and contemplate taking it off completely before remembering that the thin brown tank I’m wearing underneath will provide little protection against the burning rays. I have more than my share of sunspots on my shoulders as it is.

Time for a break, I think, having just snatched up a cracked square of plastic. I grin as I calculate how much steel it will net me; I’m thinking at least 50 credits’ worth, which means that my trek out to the woods has already been worth it.

I move toward a large fallen tree lying a few feet away. I straddle the trunk and unhook my water canteen again. I take a few grateful sips, and then pull off the stretched-out elastic band that is knotted around my wrist. I tie my sweat-dampened hair into a bun on the back of my head, twisting it a little too tightly. When I pull my hand away, several dark strands come with it.

“Ooh,” I moan. My neck is stiff from the hours of staring straight at the ground. I cock my head from side to side in order to work out the kinks, and I hear a dull series of pops as my vertebrae resettle. I hang my head to the right for a few moments, stretching my neck muscles; from this new sideways perspective, something catches my eye. I see the vague outline of a small silver lump tucked under a raised root about a yard over.

I crawl over and gently dig around the object. After a minute of maneuvering, I pull out a small machine, comprised of dozens of little interlocking tubes and shafts. The device is slightly larger than the palm of my hand and surprisingly heavy. Underneath the caked-on dirt, it looks shiny—brand new, in fact. It’s missing that matte sheen, a telltale sign of having been processed through the recycling center. Some small pieces might be missing—a few loose wires hang out, a lonely peg sticks out from the side—but, for the most part, it seems intact.

“Jackpot,” I whisper aloud. This thing has got to be worth at least a hundred credits, easily. Enough to cover an entire month of Rations. Between this little machine, the plastic, and the myriad of generics already lining my bag, this is going to be a stellar Collection Day.

I carefully tuck the piece of machinery into the inner pocket of my bag and survey the spoils inside. Toting around a week’s worth of generics is bothersome, but I’d rather deal with the annoyance than with the line that will form outside the recycling plant in the time it takes me to collect my spoils from home. Sweat drips down the crook of my arm and I decide that this should be more than enough to carry us through until the next biweekly Collection.

Not bad, I think, swinging the bag over my shoulder and striding back toward Sixteen. The bag bounces softly against my side with each step, and I can hear its contents jingling as the generics roll against each other—a soft symphony that seems to commend me on my success.

I steadily work my way back, still on the verge of overheating but in good spirits. As the trees begin to thin, I can vaguely make out the silhouettes of other scavs scouring the fields. I peel off my jacket and shove it down into my bag to mute the sound of metal on metal before striding into the field.

“Ahoy, Terra!” Mal is the first to see me, and I wince slightly as he shouts his friendly greeting in my direction. He and I have always been on good terms, but he’s one of very few to regard me with such enthusiasm. Several men in the surrounding area sneer as I pace toward them. I’ve been a scav for over three years and they still can’t stand that, at just eighteen, I pull bigger payouts most weeks than they do. The fact that I’m a girl doesn’t help draw their favor, either.

“And just where’re ya coming from? Ya look, uh, kinda …” Mal trails off as I come close, dusting off his brown pants as he stands. I can tell by his expression that I’m not exactly at my most gorgeous. He runs his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, leaving a streak of dirt on his temple.

“What? I can pull off the dirty, sweat-soaked look just as well you can, old man,” I respond with a grin, though my words sound stiff and formal compared to Mal’s easygoing South Quadrant drawl. “I’ve just been cruising the Southern Plains for a while. Picked up a few more generics, nothing too exciting,” I lie smoothly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a rugged-looking guy who’s been eyeing me return his gaze to the ground.

“Same here. Jus’ some screws mostly, but I did find half a spool of copper wire right outside the wall.” He shoots his eyes in the direction of our eavesdropper before adding in a hushed voice, “Chrys scored the real Jackpot though. Found two metal plates just south of the wall, with a battery core underneath ‘em! That’s, what, 300 credits for the core alone? At least? The lucky bastard was hardly out here twenty minutes. Turned tail and headed straight back in to turn ‘em in.”

Damn it, I think, kicking myself for dismissing the plates earlier.

“Wow,” I say, failing to keep the bitterness out of my voice. Jealousy is a normal reaction to that kind of find, though, so Mal doesn’t seem to care. “Smart man.”

“Yeah, well, at least he only got those twenty minutes in ‘cause of it. Means more scavin’ for us, right?”

“Right,” I respond, smiling at him. “Well, I should get back.”

“Heading in already? But if ya didn’t find that much…” he says with a concerned look, and I know he’s thinking of Mica. I feel a twinge of guilt for lying to him and have to remind myself that he wasn’t the only one who was listening.

“Nah, it’s okay, really. We still have credits left over from the last Collection. I just have to get back. I don’t like to leave the little bro alone for too long, you know how it is. He’s…” I trail off.

“Mica,” we say at the same time. We both laugh. I wave goodbye to Mal and start back toward the wall, pinning my bag to my side nonchalantly as I pass through the other scavs’ lines of sight.

Chapter 2

The line outside the recycling center is blissfully short. Rain kept us trapped inside for two days this week, so I’m not surprised that most scavs are still out searching, putting in last-minute efforts to boost their credit totals as high as they can. I get in line behind a tall, lanky boy with reddish-brown hair that sticks up in the back. He looks a few years older than I am, but I know I recognize him from somewhere. E-something, I think. His name definitely starts with an E.

A tired-looking woman with dirty blond hair loosely braided down her back approaches the drop-off station, which is set up right outside the recycling center doors. She begins to empty her bag out on the table, though since I’m stuck behind Something-That-Begins-with-E, I can’t quite see its contents. I can, however, hear the pathetic clink as each item hits the metal tabletop.

The Collection Agent purses her lips as she pokes the items with her white-gloved hands, then holds her computer tablet over the collection to scan them. She prods at the screen for a minute before looking up.

“Total: 37 credits,” she announces curtly, sweeping the items into a bin that hangs off the edge of the desk. I well up with sympathy immediately. It’s barely enough to make it by between Collections.

The blond woman doesn’t move. She mumbles something feebly to the attendant. The agent stares vacantly, her right eyebrow raised, while the woman speaks. After a moment, she gives a small but distinct shake of her head. I don’t know what the question was, but the answer is very evident. The woman bows her head low as she’s ushered off by a guardsman.

“Next!” The agent motions for the next person to step forward, flicking a speck of dirt off her crisp uniform as she does. A bearded man limps up to the table.

“What was that about?” My tendency to think out loud rears its ugly head. E-something turns around and looks at me quizzically.

“That’s Hess Underwood,” he says quietly, in a way that makes it clear I should already know this. I furrow my brow in response. “She’s Loran Underwood’s wife.”

“Oh.” Loran Underwood is a well-established scav that was making his rounds a few days ago when raiders jumped him. In these instances, generally a scav will be robbed of his spoils and, if it’s a man, probably gets beaten a little—the severity of the latter directly corresponding with resistance to the former. If it’s a woman… well, there’s a reason there aren’t too many female scavs.

These days, it’s an unwritten rule that if you get caught, you just give up your stash and the raiders won’t bother with the other stuff. Loran would have known this better than anyone, having had so many run-ins with them in the past. It’s been months since a scav’s been seriously injured, even longer since one’s been killed. Not since Lee. So it was a bit of a mystery when the guardsmen brought Loran back to his home that night, on the verge of death. He was unconscious for over a day. When he finally woke up, he had complete amnesia, in addition to a shattered kneecap. I guess Hess has had to take over his scav duties while he’s been healing, which is always a slow process down here.

“Total: 89 credits,” I hear the agent say. “Next!”

“I thought they had a son,” I whisper to E-something, an edge of accusation in my voice. “I’m pretty sure he’s a year or two above Mica. Trip Underwood, right? So why is his mother the one out scavenging?”

He stares at me for a long moment before slowly exhaling, an act that sounds suspiciously like a sigh.

“Traders.” He says the word matter-of-factly, before turning to the front again.

“Oh.” I don’t know if he means that Trip has been recruited into the ranks of the infamous band of thugs and lawbreakers, or if the Black Traders have done something else with him. Either way, it explains why poor Hess has been stuck with scavenging as a means of providing for her sick husband. The couple will be lucky if they get to see their son again.

“Next!” It’s E-something’s turn. He steps up to the metal table and gives a wary glance in the direction of the guardsman to his right.

“Name?” the agent asks as she takes his palm and scans it on her tablet.

“Garren, Emery,” he replies.

Well, at least I was right about the E. Still, I can’t exactly remember how I know him. I can’t place him in my memories from school but, then again, it’s been years since I’ve set foot in the place. Gran’s passing sealed the deal for me: Higher learning was never going to be my bag. I never even bothered to find out if I passed my secondary examinations.

A vague memory begins to stir as I watch Emery stand in front of the Collection Agent. There’s something about the set of Emery’s shoulders that sends me back to my classroom days. Before I can fully recall the memory, however, I’m snapped back to the present by the agent’s shrill voice.

“Total: 218 credits,” she says through pursed lips.

Wow. Go Emery, I think. I’ve never broken the 200 mark at a single Collection before, though I’m hopeful that my little machine will help me do so today. Our electric bill’s a day overdue, Mica needs new school supplies, and the next Rationing is less than a week away, which means most of this payout is already allocated. I need to bag at least 150 credits if we’re going to make it without dipping into our paltry savings.

Plus, I think, scraping the worn-down heel of my right boot in the dirt, I was really hoping to get a new pair of boots this month.

There are a few impressed murmurs from the people in line behind me, still appreciating Emery’s pull. I turn around briefly and take in the length of the queue. Good thing I came back when I did.

Emery turns away from the drop-off station with a poorly suppressed smile on his face. I give him a subtle thumbs-up as he passes but he simply stares impassively at me in response.

Well, fine then.

“Next!”

I step up to the table and stick out my hand automatically.

“Name?” the agent says, placing my palm on the tablet.

“Rhodon, Terra.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, her eyes still plastered on the screen of her handheld computer.

I lift the flap of my bag and remove my jacket, setting it on the table in front of me. “Um, I think I’m going to need a container,” I say quietly.

The agent peers up at me quizzically with large hazel eyes.

“It’s a lot of little pieces,” I explain.

She nods curtly to a guardsman, who places a shallow metal tray on the table. I slowly tip my bag over it; the piece of plastic is the first to fall out, quickly followed by dozens of screws, wires, and other scraps. They ring loudly as they pour onto the tray, and I can hear speculative murmurs coming from the line behind me.

With pursed lips, the agent immediately holds her computer out and scans in the contents of the tray before I have a chance to interject. “175 credits,” she says briskly.

An appreciative whistle rings out from behind me. I glance back to the crowded line and see several faces beaming at me among the standard, pissed off ones. At least some of them, Mal included, seem pleased that I’ve gotten a good haul. They’re happy for me. Well, happy for Mica.

The agent looks at me impatiently. “Your credits have been transferred to your account, Ms. Rhodon. You may go.”

“Er, sorry. I wasn’t done,” I say. She stares at me apathetically. “You scanned before I had a chance to…” I trail off as I reach into the pocket of my bag. Wrapping my fingers around the machine, I pull it out and place it gingerly on the table.

Annoyed, the agent taps around on her computer screen for a few moments, then holds it over the machine. The scan takes longer than usual. Suddenly, I hear a sharp intake of breath. The agent looks from the screen to my little machine, and back again. She looks up at me with widened eyes and it takes her a second to find her words.

“C-correction,” she stutters. “3,215 credits.”

A collective gasp rings out from behind me, and I hear the number repeated over and over again as it moves through the crowd. After a moment, the onlookers’ hushed voices fall into total silence. My hearts hammers in my ears as I process the number.

“What?” My voice barely registers above a whisper. “Are… are you sure?”

The agent simply nods. There has never, in all my recollection, been a credit payout this large before. The crowd’s silence breaks with my whisper, and their murmurs begin to take on a considerably different tone. I risk a furtive glance behind me to find that the smiling faces have changed. Some look confused, some outraged. Several people in the back of the crowd have begun to argue. I force my eyes back to the agent, who is staring at me with her mouth agape.

Taking a deep breath, I gently place two fingers on my little machine, still shining on the metal tabletop. It already looks different to me; the tubes wrap around each other, interlocking in a way that seems more intricate in the light of its hidden value.

“What is it?” I blurt out.

The agent gives me a puzzled look and closes her mouth as if she’s debating how to respond. Ultimately, she says nothing, and her mask of composure quickly returns.

“That information is classified,” she says brusquely. She surveys the crowd that has edged up behind me, all semblance of a line forgotten, vying for a look at the valuable machine. The agent summons a stony-faced, brown-haired guardsman forward. “Guardsman Brant will escort you home, Ms. Rhodon. You may go.”

Brant’s green eyes are wide as he approaches, flashing with something that almost looks like recognition as he searches my face, but he says nothing. He simply grips my arm and pulls me away from the crowd of onlookers, many of whom are still sending angry glares in my direction. Just before we turn out of the square, I look back to see the agent pick up the machine and walk directly inside the recycling center, shutting the doors behind her.

It appears Collection Day is over.

Chapter 3

In an attempt to hide my shock, I force Guardsman Brant to take me home by way of the Marketplace. Despite his protests, I insist on picking up the few items that I had intended to purchase after what I thought would be an ordinary payout. My hand shakes as I hand it to Mr. Copper, my favorite stallkeeper, to scan.

“What’d ya do this time?” he asks jokingly, looking pointedly at Brant.

“Evidently something outside the usual, Copp,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. He chuckles as he runs the credit scanner over my palm. My breath hitches when my credit balance flashes over the register, and Copp’s eyebrows shoot straight up.

“Time to go, Miss Rhodon,” Brant says brusquely, shepherding me out of the stall before another word is exchanged.

I leave the Marketplace with Mica’s school supplies, half a dozen freshly purified water canteens, and my much-needed boots, feeling the burn of a dozen pairs of eyes on my back.

The walk home has never felt so long. I try asking Brant some questions once the shock wears off a little—why did they close the recycling center early, had he ever seen anything like my machine?—but I receive nothing in response.

“It’s just a few blocks down,” I say to Brant as we finally near my apartment complex, “you can head back now.” His silence, though typical for a guardsman, has left me tense and anxious. If he won’t answer any of my questions, the least he can do is leave me alone with my thoughts.

“I have instructions to escort you home, Miss Rhodon,” he replies, polite but perfunctory.

“I know, but we’re basically there already,” I persist. “Really, it’s fine if you go. I’m a big girl.” Brant raises an eyebrow and gently places his hand on my shoulder as if to prevent me from running away. I feel the blush burn in my cheeks; I’m being led like a child.

He escorts me inside my apartment building, and only releases his grip once we reach my doorstep. As I fumble to find my keys, he suddenly reaches out and grabs my wrist. I look up at him, indignant, only to find him darting his head from side to side to ensure we are alone.

“Be careful,” he whispers, his eyes full of urgency. “They won’t like you asking so many questions.” Before I can ask him to explain, his stoic expression has returned. He turns and paces away without another word. I’m not sure if he meant it as a warning or as a threat, but either way, his words leave me with my breath caught in my chest.

* * *

I manage to avoid talking to Mica about my discovery and the resulting payout when he returns from school. The next morning, I head back to the reopened recycling center before he wakes. They’ve extended the Collection in light of yesterday’s early closure, and I have too many questions about this sudden, unprecedented wealth to let him get too excited just yet. Brant’s warning echoes in my head, but I need answers: Is this legit? Why did they insist upon escorting me home—all the way home? Am I in danger? More importantly, is Mica in danger? And, in the back of my mind, less urgent but still there: What in the world was it that I found?

“If you do not have goods to drop off, you have no business at this plant,” the guardsman tells me, his face vacant.

“Just let me talk to someone. The Collection Agent from yesterday, or Guardsman Brant. I just have a few questions, it won’t take long.

“Do you have goods to drop off?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you have no business here,” he repeats.

“I’m not leaving until I get some answers,” I say, crossing my arms stubbornly. I hear a sigh, and look over to see today’s Collection Agent, a young man with wavy, chin-length brown hair and a crystal stud in his ear, seated at the drop-off station, watching me. He squints to study my face from the distance. After a moment, he holds a finger up, instructing the next scav waiting in line to hold on, then beckons me over. The scav scowls at me as I approach.

“Who is it that you insist on seeing?” the agent says.

I bite the inside of my lip before answering. “Brant,” I say after a moment. “I need to speak with Guardsman Brant.”

“Jarvis!” The agent summons the guardsman I’d been arguing with. “Call up the main office. Get Brant out here.” Jarvis nods, then walks into the recycling center with his hand at his ear. “You can wait until he gets here, and then you will need to leave. You are being very disruptive.”

I nod, and walk around to the side of the building, away from the glares and murmurs coming from the people standing in line. Eventually, a black transport vehicle rolls up in front of me. Brant steps out of the vehicle, a weary expression already on his face.

“Miss Rhodon,” he says guardedly as he approaches.

“Brant,” I respond.

A tense moment of silence passes between us.

“Well?” he says finally. “I assume there is a reason you summoned me?”

“I have some questions about what happened yesterday. My… my payout. My find.”

“You should leave it alone, Miss Rhodon,” Brant says sharply. With the smallest head movement possible, he checks the peripheral area for onlookers. I look around too. Even though we’re out of sight from the scavs waiting in line, there are still quite a few people around.

“Is there somewhere more private we could speak?” I ask.

He shakes his head, though it seems more like an indication of his exasperation than an actual response.

“I… I’m nervous,” I say quietly. “All that steel, it’s not normal. I have no idea if this whole thing is legitimate; nobody will even tell me what I found. And after what you said yesterday, I just thought—”

“You have been compensated for your discovery. Leave it at that.”

“That’s all I get? You’re not even going to explain why you were suddenly assigned as my protection detail? Or what the hell your little warning meant? I deserve to know if I’m at risk from the Black Traders, or if there’s some other reas—”

“We’re done here.” He cuts me off and turns back to the idling transport. Without so much as another glance, he gets into the vehicle and takes off. My eyes follow the path of the transport in disappointment as I walk back around to the front of the building. An unfortunately familiar voice echoes out from the crowd.

“Back for seconds, Rhodon?” Yttria Coal cries, her harpy-like voice burning in my ears. I search the line until I see her, standing next to her father, her jet-black hair tied up in a tight topknot on the crown of her head. Our eyes meet and she starts toward me, her open jacket flapping violently, revealing a stomach-baring cropped top underneath. Arc Coal clucks disapprovingly, but makes no motion to stop his daughter.

“Take the hint, Terror,” she says as she gets close to me, breathing so hard that I can see her stomach muscles flexing under her caramel skin. “Why don’t you and your precious little bro take that undeserved payout and use it to get out of our lives?”

“Mind your own damn business, Yttria,” I say quietly. There are far too many ears listening for me to say what I really want to. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Holding my tongue is still something I’m working on. Had I been smart enough to do so when I caught my father sneaking around with Yttria’s mother, maybe she wouldn’t hate me so much.

“Oh, I will, when you finally keep your cheating scav paws out of our business so the rest of us can make a living too.” She storms back to her father. I shake my head, turning to leave, but not before I see Arc place his arm reassuringly around his daughter’s shoulders as she sidles up to him.

Not everyone eyes me with hostility as I head home. I’ve barely made it back across the road when I am greeted by an old acquaintance of Gran’s, an elderly woman I have seen maybe twice before in my life.

“Ah, Terra, my dear!” she cries, a wide, toothy grin decorating her wrinkled face. “You look wonderful, darling, simply wonderful! You certainly have grown up well. A little skinny, perhaps, but you are becoming more of a beauty each day!”

“Er, thank you, Mrs…” I trail off, having vaguely recognized the face but fully blanking on the name. She is hunched over slightly, hobbling as she falls into step with me. I slow my stride so she can keep up as I continue down the road. Her white hair is tied back in a wispy bun, and she has a purple scarf draped over her clean blue dress. Around her neck hangs a fine silver necklace that is suspiciously lacking in tarnish.

“Why, it’s Gem Kuipers, child! Surely you haven’t forgotten me? I was the very closest of friends with your old Gran.” She flashes another smile. “Oh yes, I was there when you were just a tiny little thing.”

“Of course, Mrs. Kuipers,” I reply politely. “How are you?”

“Oh, my sweet girl,” she says, her face falling dramatically into a frown. “You’re so sweet to ask, but I’m afraid I’m not very well at all. My Frankie—well, you remember my son Frankie, of course!—he’s laid up at home with a broken leg. He can’t make it twenty feet outside the wall these days, and with my stall not doing very well these past months…”

She continues on for another few minutes as I sympathetically nod along. I use the time to prepare myself for the question I know she—and everybody else—will be asking.

“So you see,” she says finally, eyeing me cautiously, “all we really need is a bit of steel to tide us over until he’s all healed up and the spring sales have begun. And when I heard that you had the good fortune to come into a little extra—why, it’s just the talk of the whole town, you know!—I just knew that you would be more than happy to help out your Gran’s dear old friend!”

“Oh, Mrs. Kuipers…” I begin awkwardly.

“Please, my dear, call me Gem.”

I respond with a hard smile. “Mrs. K—er, Gem. I really am sorry to hear about your troubles.” She stares at me eagerly. “It’s just that I think there’s been a little confusion with my credit balance, so I’m afraid I’m not really in a position to help right now.” I brace myself for the backlash.

Her filmy eyes narrow and I grimace at the look that flashes across her face. It only lasts a moment, though, and before I know it, her kindly mask is back.

“Well, of course, my dear,” she says, her voice alarmingly chipper. “I completely understand. I’m sure that Frankie and I will survive somehow, don’t you fret about us one bit. It was lovely to see you.” She touches her fingers absentmindedly to her necklace as she turns to leave. “Do give my love to darling Miko!”

“It’s Mica,” I call after her, but she is already gone, taking strong steps with a straight back as she weaves through the crowd.

Before I’m even halfway home, three more of our “friends” stop me “just to say hello.”

At least I don’t have any real friends to refuse, I think grudgingly as I finally reach the sanctuary of the apartment. I keep busy by cleaning the entire apartment, eager to distract myself while I wait for Mica to return from school. I need to tell him everything. The news of our payout is traveling fast, and I’d rather Mica hear it from me than from a nosy neighbor. As soon as he bursts through the door, however, it’s clear that I’m too late.

“Terra!” Mica shouts as he pulls his backpack off, dropping it carelessly into the middle of the room. “Guess who I sat with at lunch today?”

“Prime Whitlock?” I ask sarcastically, retrieving his bag and tossing it back to him playfully.

“Juniper Coal,” he says excitedly, plopping onto the couch and ignoring my jibe. “And Lark, and Brim, and Cyrx!” Aside from Juniper, I’ve never heard of these kids before, but Mica’s enthusiasm makes it clear enough that they must be a big deal around the schoolhouse.

“They were practically fighting over me,” he continues. “Juniper Coal! She even told me to call her Junie.”

“You’re practically royalty,” I tell him, rolling my eyes heavily.

“Don’t take it out on me, just because you were never this popular.”

“Sorry, Mic,” I say, sitting down next to him. I furrow my brow and try to choose my words carefully. My little brother, who has always been just a little too smart to really fit in, even without our family’s reputation dragging him down, is suddenly the star of his class. Mica, who usually stalks through the door at the end of the day sullen and despondent, is finally feeling the glow of popularity. It breaks my heart a little to know why.

“Something happened yesterday,” I begin tentatively.

“Yeah, woulda been nice if you had, you know, told me we’re rich and famous now.” Mica’s face suddenly lights up, as if he’s been struck with an idea. He springs up from the couch and walks quickly to the kitchen, where he starts to pull cans of Rations from the cabinets.

“We’re not rich and famous. I still don’t know if this is all some kind of mistake or not,” I say, my tone serious as he bangs a cabinet door closed. I understand his excitement, but I don’t want to encourage it. We’re sitting on more steel than either of us have ever seen. More than Gran left to us, outside the worth of the apartment, and far more than we got when our father left us in her care. Granted, that isn’t saying much.

Mica ignores me, and continues to root through the cabinets.

“Chill out, would you?” I call from the couch. “I’ll make dinner soon.”

“We can afford food that tastes like actual food now. Time to throw this garbage out!”

“Mica, stop!” I say, a little too strongly. I stalk into the kitchen and begin returning our Rations to the cabinets. “We’re not spending this steel until I figure out exactly what is going on.”

“Why do you have to question everything? Why can’t you just be happy that something good has finally happened to us?” he says angrily.

“This is not your decision, Mica!” I slam the last cabinet door closed. Mica stomps out of the kitchen and into his bedroom. He doesn’t come out for the rest of the night.

* * *

The rain starts the next morning. For the first time, I’m happy to hear the warning alarm; people are far less likely to come begging for handouts when they risk death or disfigurement by going outside. For once, being stuck inside this apartment’s acid-proof walls is a blessing, even if it means being confined with Mica’s temper tantrums. As if life with a thirteen-year-old isn’t hard enough. At least it’s given us some respite from all the unwanted attention.

“Seriously?”

It’s three days into the storm. Mica looks down at the dinner plate I’ve placed on the table in front of him, his sand-colored hair falling into his face. “Three thousand credits in the bank and you’re still making me eat slop?” He prods at the glutinous brown lump in the middle of his dish, causing it to jiggle.

“We’re done arguing about this. We have three days’ worth of food leftover from the last Rationing, so we will be eating Rations for the next three days. We can talk about what to do next after that. Suck it up, bro.” I grin at him, trying to alleviate the tension. “It was between slop and glug, so you should really be thanking me.” I eye the cans of D-T04U peeking out of the pantry and shudder. If I’d gotten to last month’s Rationing on time, I could’ve stocked up on some better stuff. Unfortunately, I had spent most of my morning retrieving a bent steel pole that was caught in the branches of a tree out in the Dead Woods, and it was slim pickings by the time I did arrive. D-B334, D-T04U, and food pills were the only things left. As it is, the slop vibrating on our plates is by far the lesser of two evils.

Mica stares at me, his brown eyes squinting in scrutiny. People still tell us that we wouldn’t even look related if it weren’t for our perfectly matching eyes. Where his hair is a light, sandy color, mine is so dark brown that it’s almost black. Though my skin is tan and freckled from years of scavenging, he is still spotlessly pale. And where Mica inherited our mother’s flat Exodusian nose, I was the lucky recipient of our father’s: thin with a high bridge and rounded tip. But our eyes.

Color-wise, everyone in Sixteen ends up with pretty much the same muddy brown. Even if they aren’t born brown-eyed, they end up that way as their eyes adjust to the atmosphere down here. It’s one of the many reasons skydwellers hate being assigned to jobs on the groundworld—eventually, their precious baby blues get affected, too. But even though all terrestrials share a similar eye color, people still point out that there’s just something different about Mica’s and mine. Almond-shaped, long-lashed, with the subtlest flecks of gold echoing out from the middle. Like little starbursts, Gran used to say.

I roll my own eyes back at Mica and take a moment to listen to the rain hiss as it hits the solar panels on the roof, still audible over the low murmurs of the television in the next room. A new special is airing tonight, something about some skycity technology that the Tribunal is eager to unveil. I think Prime Morrigan Whitlock is making the announcement herself. I couldn’t care less about what goes on up there—it never affects us in any significant way—but Mica always insists on watching.

“Besides,” I continue lightly, “I’m still not convinced that this is legit. Maybe that dinky little computer messed up, and our account will be empty again before we know it. What would be the point in getting accustomed to nice things if they just get repo’d in a week, hmm?”

Mica is not convinced. He pierces a slice of slop with his fork and quickly shovels it into his mouth before it can slide off.

“If it was just some computer error they would have told us by now,” he says, his words garbled by his full mouth. He swallows before continuing. “I mean, wouldn’t they want to keep that kind of steel for themselves if they could?”

“Oh, just shut up and eat,” I say, exasperated.

A few moments of tense silence pass.

“It’s not like we don’t have enough to spare. You’re being selfish.” Mica’s eyes are dark as he glares across the table.

“I’m being selfish? How is it selfish to want to be smart about this? We are not spending our steel unnecessarily just so you have something to brag about at school. I’m still in charge here.”

“You’re not being smart. You’re not doing anything! You do this every time something big happens, Terra. You can’t just freeze up on me anymore.”

I flinch at his words. The memories of the dark time that followed Gran’s death rush back to me. Overwhelmed with the burden of responsibility and the ache of Gran being gone, I had just… stopped. I did nothing beyond the basic, perfunctory motions required to stay alive. Every time Mica, not even ten years old yet, tried to shake me out of it, every time he cried, I would shut him out; I literally shut the door on him while he howled and pounded at it, and the days ticked on without me.

We ran out of money first, then food. It wasn’t until the guardsmen were pounding at our door to deliver my starving baby brother, who had collapsed at school, that I finally woke up. Seeing his body, limp and ashen against the guardsman’s uniform, shocked me back to reality. The way his wrist dangled lifelessly over the side… I swore then and there that I would never allow him to suffer like that again; the guilt alone would kill me.

I went scavenging for the first time that very day; I was too young and inexperienced to get a job doing anything else, and it was the fastest way I could think of to get credits. As luck would have it, I turned out to have a knack for it. By the following Collection Day we had steel in the bank and full bellies once again, but the scars of my failure are still there. To this day, Mica won’t sleep with his door closed.

“That was different,” I say. “When Gran died, I was—”

“I’m not just talking about her, I’m talking about—”

“Don’t.” I cut Mica off, clenching my jaw and staring him down. Mica’s eyes widen in response to my expression. He knows he’s toying with the line, if not stepping over it. It’s been over a year since Lee died, the last tragic victim of raider violence taken too far. Well, the last one publicized, at any rate.

I was never really that sad about it. Angry, yes, but not sad. It kind of felt inevitable. After all, raider violence had been on the rise. Scavs were getting pinged left and right. It was only a matter of time before something happened to someone I knew. Besides, Lee and I hadn’t even been together that long. We weren’t in love. I didn’t fall asleep thinking of the way his hair stuck up in the back, like he had perpetually just rolled out of bed. I didn’t dream of how he kissed me—softly, like he was always just a little shy.

Of course, after he died, I couldn’t stop thinking about those things.

Still, I had no idea if he was The One. And I never will. He was one more person snatched from my life before we even got our chance.

Where Gran’s death had paralyzed me with fear and sadness, with Lee’s it was all anger. Enough rage to keep me holed up in my room for a solid week. At least Mica was better prepared that time.

My nostrils flare as I inhale slowly, attempting to calm myself down. Mica is trying to distract me from the matter at hand, and I can’t let him.

“Don’t you think your future is slightly more important than getting Junie Coal to let you stare at her adoringly while she eats lunch?” I try to soften my voice, but can’t quite keep the jibe from slipping out.

“Oh please. You don’t even know her. She’s not like that.”

“Ha,” I scoff. “I know her sister. The apple doesn’t fall that far from the other apples, bud.”

“Let’s hope that’s not true,” he says, venom on his tongue. “This town doesn’t need another pariah to shun.”

Ouch. I know he doesn’t really mean it; he’s pissed, he’s restless, and he’s a teenager. I do my best to shrug off his insult, and return my attention to my dinner.

“Ugh.” Mica shudders, shoveling the last forkful into his mouth and pushing his plate away. It may taste like dirt, but evidently it’s not disgusting enough for a boy in the middle of a growth spurt to pass up. He’s barely started growing and he’s already almost eclipsed all 5’8” of me.

“Put your dishes in the sink, please,” I remind him gently.

With a derisive look, Mica picks up his plate and cup, walks over to the sink, and places them squarely on the counter next to it before storming off to the living room.

I sigh. He just doesn’t understand. If moochers were the only threat, that would be one thing. Unfortunately, I imagine the Traders are also aware of our good fortune. It’s been a few months since the last credit theft, which means it’s only a matter of time until there’s another. And there are only two ways to obtain someone else’s steel: it is either gifted or… it is taken. The thought makes me run cold. It feels like targets have been painted on our backs now that we’ve become the richest orphans ever to grace the West Quadrant. If Mica didn’t have school, I doubt I’d want either of us to leave the apartment ever again.

Funny how quickly things change, I think humorlessly, as the wind whistles outside.

Chapter 4

I wake in the middle of the night to the sound of nothing. The rain, after three days of unceasing pounding, seems to finally have stopped. A couple more hours and the ground will be dry enough to walk on without eating through the soles of my boots. The silence is disconcerting, though, and I know I won’t be able to fall back asleep. As I wipe the sleep from my eyes and roll over onto my back, my mind begins to race.

What did I find? Why won’t the officials speak to me? And what do I do with all this steel now that I have it? In my solitude, I am forced to acknowledge the fact that I’ve been using Mica, mooching neighbors, and fear of the Black Traders as excuses not to take action.

What is wrong with me? I shut my eyes, squeezing them tightly for a moment before I open them again. I am avoiding instead of confronting again, ignoring instead of planning. Receiving a large sum of money, no matter how suspicious, is nothing like inheriting the sudden responsibility of caring for your kid brother on your own, so what am I afraid of? Aren’t I supposed to be both older and wiser than when I was fifteen?

Mica is right. There’s no use just sitting on this fortune. I need to start considering how we’re going to spend it. And I need to be smart about it, too.

Mica will have all the supplies he’ll ever need for school. We can even start shopping in North Quadrant shops instead of bargaining over every pair of socks purchased from the Marketplace. Maybe we can even afford a transport of some kind. We’d be the first West Q’ers in a long time to have one. Four-wheelers are still too expensive, of course, but maybe a scooter or refurbished minicycle…

I force myself to take a breath. Food, supplies, new clothes, and a transport vehicle? I’m getting ahead of myself. 3,000 credits may seem like an insane amount now, but spread between both Mica and me, it won’t last forever. Steel only lasts as long as you can go without spending it. What happens when we start to run out? And am I supposed to just sit around and do nothing until then?

My relationship with the other scavs has always been tenuous at best. I can only imagine the endless stream of remarks I’ll have to endure if I try to return to the fields:

“Spent your fortune already, have you?”

“What, you need more steel to spruce up your wardrobe?”

“Here she is, fellas, ready to show us up again. You just can’t leave any for the rest of us, can you?”

No, the other scavs definitely won’t tolerate me after this, not when their own credit accounts have always been so much emptier. And a job in town is pretty much out of the question for me; I have neither the skill set nor the desire to work down at the docks or in the recycling center. And I suspect that my sunny disposition is not quite what they’re looking for to mind a shop.

I flip my pillow to the cool side and press my face into it, counting my shallow breaths. Had you asked me a week ago, I would have told you that something like this would be a blessing. I never considered how complicated it could be.

I start to recall how normal the events of That Day felt: scavenging out in the Dead Woods, my friendly conversation with Mal. I am recounting my terse chat with Emery when, suddenly, I realize why I remember the set of his shoulders, the shade of his hair. It’s from watching him walk in and out of my classroom, back when he came to speak to my class about his scholarship. Emery Garren: the first person in 50 years from Genesis X-16 who would be attending school in the sky.

Technically, the universities up top are open to anyone, citizens of the groundworld and skycities alike. At least that’s what the commercials say. Of course, the kids up there don’t have acid rain that prevents regular attendance, and their teachers actually like being assigned to them. Here in Sixteen, kids with test scores high enough and wallets deep enough to qualify for entrance are pretty much nonexistent. We don’t have access to the technology or the resources that the skydwellers have, so achieving those scores takes a particular kind of brilliance. And even when kids do make the grade, the cost is what really keeps us out.

Emery was a special case because he managed to land himself one of the exclusive Skyline Scholarships that are reserved for terrestrials who score highly on their tertiary examinations. Most years, nobody from Sixteen even bothers applying. Our chances are already low and the disappointment just isn’t worth the effort. Most years, no scholarships are awarded at all.

So why is Emery back here doing scavenging work? I think briefly, though my curiosity is soon eclipsed by one glowing thought: Mica. He’s already passed his secondary examinations, an achievement most kids don’t hit until they’re much older. Under the right circumstances, and with the right resources, he might actually have the smarts to make it up top. Our circumstances have never been right, though—not until now.

I can see Mica shutting the apartment door behind him, bags slung over his shoulders, the two of us marching toward the Skyline Transfer together. I see him, sitting at a tiny table in a tiny room with real, sky-grown food on his plate—the kind of stuff we’ve only ever seen on TV: colorful fruits and vegetables that have actual names instead of coded numbers stamped onto their labels.

It would be the chance for a real life for Mica—a life in which his potential wouldn’t be wasted as a scav or recycling plant laborer down here. One where he’d have the education to become more than some self-important skydweller’s personal slave once he got up top. And me, well, I’d find something to do down here while he was gone.

I can only let my imagination run away for so long before I have to shake myself back to reality. How much steel am I honestly talking about here? Skyline Transfer tickets cost hundreds of credits, and who knows how much more he would need once he got up there. I suddenly realize I might have already landed on the reason for Emery’s premature return.

Even if Mica were able to obtain a scholarship, logic tells me that what it takes to live up there is a hell of a lot more than what it takes to survive down here. For the first time, it occurs to me that even if my payout really were some sort of computer-generated glitch, they might not care enough to fix it. Maybe this much steel is chump change to the Tribunal. The thought puts a sour taste in my mouth.

If I want even a chance of making this happen for Mica, I need more. We need more.

I bolt upright. The other scavs will be riotous if they find out that I’ve broken the unwritten rule and tried to collect less than a week after a huge payout. It’s as bad as stealing in these parts. But if I could just sneak out and get back without anyone seeing me, I could simply sit on my findings until Collection Day rolls around.

I contemplate waiting a while, to give the hysteria time to die down a bit. Hardly anyone ever scavenges in the Dead Woods, so there’s a fair chance that anything similar to my little machine will stay untouched. But I can’t count on that. Has Mal already pieced it together that I had not, in fact, come from the Southern Plains that day, like I said? What about one of our eavesdroppers? No; if there’s anything else out there like my machine, I need to go now, before anyone else goes looking.

I whip myself out of bed as quickly as I can without waking Mica. Tying my hair back in a tight ponytail, I shimmy into an old pair of dark cargos and zip my jacket over a threadbare t-shirt. It’s a risk to venture out so soon after the rain, so I want to make sure my skin is well covered. I pull a pair of gloves out of a drawer and shove them into my pocket.

I tiptoe out of my bedroom and dart over to the kitchen table with my boots gripped tightly in one hand. A glance in the direction of Mica’s room reveals his door still ajar in its standard position. The thought that he still won’t close it, as mad as he is at me, simultaneously warms and wrenches my heart.

I reach over to unhook my bag from its usual resting place but pause before removing it. The electric blue sack, while great for avoiding being run over in the dark, is definitely unfit for secret excursions. I look around for an alternative and, through his half-open door, I notice Mica’s worn black backpack hanging from the back of his desk chair.

I creep in, tossing a furtive glance at his snoring form: hair sticking up on one side, a growing drool spot on his pillow. I quietly pull out the contents of his bag: two textbooks, a notebook, some pens, and a handful of comic books. I smile as I peek at the cover of one of the comics—a giant, floating alien waving its tentacles as it descends on a green planet—before stalking back out of the room. I’ll be back long before Mica wakes up and notices I’ve taken his bag.

I take a canteen out of the fridge and toss it into the bag, along with a small flashlight. With one strap slung over my shoulder and my boots still in my hand, I steal out the front door and close it behind me as gently as possible.

I quickly tiptoe down the stairs. The air outside is brisk and still. There is no movement on the street. I quickly bend over to put on my shoes, sheltered under the apartment building’s awning, and inspect the area around me. Most of the ground seems dry enough to walk on, though I can still see a few steaming puddles that have collected where the gravel is uneven. Easy enough to avoid. I take a deep breath and silently hopscotch across the road in the moonlight.

The route to the southern wall takes three times longer than usual. With every other step, I find myself looking behind me, but by the time I finally reach the wall, I’m confident I haven’t been followed. I pull the gloves out of my pocket and put them on to protect myself against any residual water that has pooled in the wall’s cracks, then begin to climb. As I scramble up, the moonlight casts an eerie glow on the black brick, making me feel uncomfortably visible. My anxiety level is high as I reach the top, and I climb down the other side without checking the ground below. My boot lands in a shallow puddle of rainwater, splashing up a cascade of droplets that land on the arms of my jacket with a sizzle.

“Augh!” I yell out, then bite my lip and mentally curse myself for making noise. I leap out of the puddle and instinctively wipe down my arms with my gloved hands. Drawing a deep breath, I survey the damage. Fortunately, the thick soles of my new boots seem virtually unscathed, and there are only a few light scorch marks on the sleeves of my jacket. My gloves, on the other hand, are completely shredded.

“Well, those were a good investment,” I mutter under my breath, peeling off what remains of the gloves and inspecting the pink skin on my palms. My hands feel a little raw, but they don’t actively hurt. It appears the still-smoking material of the gloves absorbed most of the damage from climbing. I toss them into the puddle and offer up a sarcastic salute as they disintegrate, leaving nothing but decorative metal studs floating on the surface. Hopefully the rain will have evaporated by the time I return, or climbing back over the wall won’t be much fun.

I tighten the straps on Mica’s backpack and stride off. By the time I reach the Dead Woods, the ground is mostly dry. I pick up my pace, jogging through the brush until I’m back at the fallen trunk. I take a long swig of water and survey the area. It’s been less than a week since I was here, but it feels like eons have passed.

I pull the flashlight out of the backpack and, with my eyes to the ground, feverishly begin my search. I trace a path that spiders through the tightly knit trees out from where I found the machine. I head in one direction, then, after a few dozen feet, retrace my steps and start over at a different angle. It isn’t long before the tedium gets to me, though, and soon I’m forging forward indefinitely in one direction.

Sweat gathers on the back of my neck as I check underneath tree roots and paw at the dirt with the tip of my boot, finding nothing but newly fallen bits of scrap metal. Every now and then I stop to snatch up an errant bolt or length of wire, unable to ignore the practiced scavenger in me.

I am so caught up in my search that I don’t notice the sky’s transition from black to increasingly light gray. With its slow brightening, I start to see beyond the immediate circumference of my flashlight’s beam and it invigorates my search. After a while, thirst convinces me to look up. The trees have begun to thin out, and I can just make out the hazy outline of the District ruins in the distance. I’ve ventured so deep into the woods that I’m almost out the other side. This is unfamiliar territory.

I mentally calculate how far I must have come and, consequently, how long it will take me to get back. The answer makes me stop short and, in doing so, my boot catches on the edge of a large rock. I move to steady myself on the nearest tree but miss, falling forward. I reach out to catch myself with my hands and end up skidding forward. My palms burn as they run over the rough ground.

My breath hisses through clenched teeth as I roll myself onto my back, crushing the backpack underneath me before I sit up. I slip it off and lean against the tree I had been reaching for when I fell. Wincing slightly, I hold my hands out in front of me and flex them a few times. I haven’t broken the skin, but they still smart. I tilt my head back against the tree trunk and stare up at the sky. What had I honestly expected to find? It’s almost daylight, I’m miles away from town, and all I have to show for my efforts are skinned hands and a few measly generics. There will be no avoiding the morning scavs by the time I get back, which means I’m in for some serious verbal thrashing at best. I don’t want to think of what “at worst” might be.

I sigh and gently knock the back of my head against the hard trunk. I need to go back, but I can’t bring myself to get up just yet. I pull out the canteen again and gulp down half of my water, staring out into the landscape. Beyond the last few trees, the hazy fog is evaporating; gray-tinged morning light illuminates the ruined metropolis that lies beyond the woods. I stare at the deteriorated silhouette of the District—just one of thousands of once-great cities that have been turned into decaying shrines, or tombs. Forever reminding us of the Skyfall.

Nobody really knows why the city of Intheria, the bastion of scientific research and medical knowledge, fell from the sky centuries ago. And, as if the tragedy of tens of thousands of deaths wasn’t horrific enough, something else was unleashed when the great city fell. Nobody knows exactly how the plague was created either; only that it was. Some say that scientists grew it in a lab. To this day, the religious folk insist it was sent down from God. Punishment for the sins of humanity and all.

The plague spread like wildfire. The major cities were the first to go, but before long the disease made its way to the smaller ones. After that, they tried to isolate the contamination to the groundworld, but eventually it hit the skycities, too. Millions succumbed. Those who might have been able to help had perished when Intheria fell, and historians conjecture that any antidote or cure was lost with them.

Within the year, Earth’s population was decimated. Our great global civilization had been reduced to ashes. No survivor’s story was exactly the same: some had fled far and fast enough to outrun it, some were too secluded to have ever been at risk, and some, miraculously, were simply unaffected. The religious folk really go nuts over that last one.

Eventually, those who survived began to rebuild. With the government of old collapsed, the Tribunal took control and declared themselves our leaders; their progeny still lead us today. The skycities were temporarily evacuated so they could be cleansed, with skydwellers begrudgingly moving into ground settlements they would later abandon. Meanwhile, the infected areas on the ground were simply cordoned off and quarantined.

Urban survivors became refugees, forced to leave everything behind. Homes and belongings were automatically condemned as contaminated and, thus, quarantined as well. Occasionally someone would cross the quarantine line in an attempt to recover their belongings, which landed them in observation for weeks to ensure they showed no signs of infection. Isolation, observation, decontamination. That was the drill. That is, assuming they didn’t end up dead first.

Survivors who still had money or connections ultimately returned to the sky while the rest banded together down here. The Tribunal restored what technology they could, and gave us terrestrials our role to play: sustaining what few resources we had left. And we’re still here salvaging, scavenging, and recycling.

It’s been centuries since the Skyfall, but the Tribunal still keeps an active quarantine on all the old major city sites. They say that the plague is still a threat—dormant but looming. I’m not sure how much of that I believe, since as time has gone on, the enforcement of the quarantine has loosened. The occasional crossing does happen, and it never seems like a big deal. The Tribunal videos we were shown in school said that the disease was spread through contact, so as long as we don’t touch anything inside the quarantine line, we’re fine. But we never forget the risk.

Huh, guess all that schooling wasn’t totally lost on me, I think, tearing my eyes away from the city’s silhouette. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, willing myself to get up. I brace myself against the tree and attempt to stand without the aid of my hands. Stumbling upward, I begin to tilt to the right. I grit my teeth and grasp the rough bark behind me with my left palm. A low curse leaves my lips as my sore palm meets the bark.

“Now, now, little girl.” A deep voice emerges from the shadows behind me. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you to watch your language?”

Chapter 5

I freeze.

The crunch of multiple footsteps sounds in my ears, and I know the unseen speaker is not alone. With achingly slow speed, I bend my knees to pick up my bag and pivot in the direction of the voice. Three huge men stand about a yard in front of me, lined up in a row. All three of them sport shaved heads, making them almost indistinguishable from one another, save for their differing skin tones. Their long brown coats hang open, revealing bare chests covered with tattoos that creep from below their waistlines all the way up to their chins.

Raiders.

The man in the middle has a chain of thick golden links hanging around his throat. As I watch it bounce against his dark chest, I realize I’ve never actually seen raiders up close before. All that time spent thinking about Lee’s final moments, what his murderers had looked like. Turns out I had it pictured all wrong.

How did I not hear them coming? I always hear them coming.

My heart begins pounding in my chest and my breathing quickens. I tighten my grip around the backpack, feeling my pulse radiate through my still-raw palm. It’s not to protect anything of real value inside, but to stop my hand from shaking. The man in the middle appraises me with dark eyes. Smirking, he draws one hand up to his face and rests his thumb and fingers on either side of his chin. The back of his hand is branded with a word, one letter inked on each knuckle, but I can’t make it out.

“Well, girlie? Didn’t your mom teach you any manners? Ladies don’t swear,” he says darkly.

“You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who considers me a lady,” I spit back at him. “Not that you’d be able to tell, I’m sure. Run across many classy gals in your line of work, do you?” The lackeys that flank his side exchange a wary look, but the man simply shakes his head and laughs.

“Looks like we got ourselves a live one, boys. A real firecracker.” He turns back toward me. “So tell me, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here?”

“Can’t a lady,” I stress the word, “just go out for a nice post-rain stroll in peace?”

“No.” His eyes darken.

“Well, sorry to disappoint then. All that rain gave me cabin fever. I needed some fresh air. Didn’t even realize how far I had wandered ‘til now.” I try my best to look sheepish.

He laughs again. “Why don’t I believe you?” he says, taking a step toward me.

“Trust issues?” I shrug, mirroring his movement to maintain the distance between us. The humor drains from his face.

“You’re a long way from home, little girl. Lady or not, you should know better than to push your luck with us.” He runs his gaze up and down my body and I force myself not to squirm. After a moment, he gestures for me to hand over the backpack.

“I’d be the one worried about luck if I were you.” I toss the pack in front of his feet. “I don’t think you have much of it going for you today. There’s nothing worthwhile in there.”

“Locke, check it out.” Without breaking his gaze, he motions to the man on his right, who picks up my bag and hastily unzips it.

“Couple pieces of scrap, canteen, flashlight…” Locke’s accent is stilted as he paws through the pockets. “It’s not much, boss.”

“Like I told you, nothing to brag about. Sorry you’ve wasted your time,” I say.

The boss strokes his chin slowly before answering. “Well, I wouldn’t say we’ve wasted anything yet. Am I right, boys?”

“Always are, Ryk,” the other lackey says with a guffaw.

My heartbeat picks up, and the warning bells that have been pealing in my head start to clang. I take another step backward. “So I’ll just be going then,” I say. “Feel free to keep the bag. You know, gesture of good will and all.”

“I don’t think so, firecracker.” Ryk bridges the space between us with one giant step, wrapping his fingers firmly around my upper arm. He pulls me into him, smashing my face against his sweaty chest. “You smell nice,” he growls into my hair.

Bile rises in my throat. Over Ryk’s shoulder, I toss a panicked glance at his companions. One is openly grinning; Locke, still holding my backpack, tries not to meet my eyes but fails. I silently plead with him, my eyes wide with fear, and to my utter shock he opens his mouth with a response.

“Don’t…” Locke says weakly. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to Ryk. Either way, it’s enough to make my captor turn toward him.

“The hell did you say?” he snarls.

The single second of distraction is all I need. With as much strength as I can muster, I bring my knee up swiftly and ram it into Ryk’s groin as hard as I can. A strangled, animalistic moan falls from his lips as he collapses. The grinning lackey lets out a single, booming laugh before smacking his hand to his mouth in horror.

I turn on the spot, wrenching myself out of Ryk’s grasp. Digging my heels into the ground, I sprint off in the opposite direction. His whimpers fade as I run, but I’m not fast enough to avoid hearing the crunch of fists hitting bone as both lackeys receive their respective punishments. I can’t help but wonder who committed the worse offense: the one who pitied me, or the one who laughed at the boss’s expense.

I race on, not daring to slow down or look behind me. For a minute, I think they might actually have let me go, but my hopes are dashed as my ears pick up the faint rhythm of heavy boots behind me.

There’s no way I’ll be able to circle around them to get home. My only option is to outrun them until… well, until one of us can’t run anymore.

I bolt out of the forest and aim for the closest structure within sight. About half a mile ahead, down a slight slope, sits an old outpost station. Squat and square, the battered building wears decades of graffiti. The early morning sun casts low shadows on the station, making it appear larger than it is. The blinking red lights that mark the quarantine line lie behind the building, three beams spaced six inches apart and suspended in midair, separating the outpost from the city ruins that begin just a few hundred feet beyond.

Grateful that scavenging keeps me in relatively good shape, I run toward the front of the outpost as fast as I can. I crash into the front door, violently jiggling the handle. Locked. I curse aloud and run the perimeter to check the windows. Though the majority of them are broken, they’re too high up for me to climb through. I peek back around the front, only to see the raiders’ dark outlines closing the distance between us, one trailing behind the other two.

I slip around to the rear of the building and flatten my back against it, hiding in the long shadows. My lungs scream for air and I hastily comply, gulping it down as my adrenaline and fear pin me to the wall. The blinking boundary between the plague-infested District ruins and my post against the station wall stands about ten feet ahead. My chest heaves as I stare at the quarantine line. If I cross it, I risk contaminating myself with whatever strains of disease still linger in the ruins. But if the raiders get ahold of me…

“Jax, get the door!”

One of them tries to turn the locked handle, rattling it with increasing annoyance.

“She’s locked in, boss.”

Ryk swears. “I’m gonna break her in half.”

They think I’m inside. Something clicks and buzzes, like the sound of an intercom, followed by some low muttering. I can’t make out what’s being said, but the situation becomes clear enough when I feel the wood shiver and hear the crash of the door being kicked in.

“There’s no one in here, Ryk.” The choked voice filters through the window directly above my head. I tense up as the sound of their heavy footsteps echoes from inside the outpost. A few moments of silent shuffling pass before a booming voice shouts loud expletives that jolt my body into movement. They’ve seen me. I launch myself forward just as a hand reaches out through the window above me. I feel a sharp jab of pain as the raider grabs at my ponytail, but he’s half a second too slow.

In five steps, I’ve crossed the quarantine line. I imagine that somewhere in the sky an alarm must be sounding, but I don’t care. Right now, taking my chances with the plague seems far preferable to whatever Ryk and his boys have planned for me.

There is unintelligible yelling at my back as I run toward the ruins, the dusty dirt of the valley floor giving way to crumbling pavement. The District is no longer simply a silhouette, a distant backdrop to life in Sixteen, the setting for stories of lives long since lost. In an instant, it has become real. I race past decaying brick houses—skinny but tall, and falling apart from the top down—that seem to beg, Imagine what we used to be.

The houses give way to tall, gray buildings that loom over me, forming the outline of the ruined city that I know. After about a hundred feet, I realize the raiders haven’t pursued me. I risk a glance back in their direction and slow to a stop. The trio hovers just behind the quarantine line, the red lights illuminating their forms. Ryk is hunched over, fury etched on his dark face. Jax is distracted, his fingers trying to stifle the outpouring of blood from his clearly broken nose. Locke simply stands there, clutching his side. The pain on his face, however, tells me that his wounds may not be so easily remedied.

Suddenly, all three of them turn their heads to the right. I follow their gaze just in time to see a huge black transport truck barreling toward the outpost, four other raiders perched in its long, rectangular wagon. From where I stand, I can just barely hear the hum of the truck’s electric engine. The vehicle screeches to a stop; one of the riders tosses something out to each of my pursuers, but I don’t stick around long enough to see what it is.

The wind whips past my ears as I race down the cracked city street, failing to blot out the sound of the truck as it gains on me. I run past the brick houses and charge into the shadows of the skyscrapers, turning blindly down a narrow alleyway. I leap over fallen rubble and piles of scrap metal, and emerge on a parallel street. Ancient-looking transport vehicles have been abandoned on the road like rusted monuments. Their round tops have been crushed by falling debris, the dyminium glass in their windows shattered. A few paces ahead, a tall black gate with a thick chain wrapped around it bars the entrance to a set of stairs that appear to go underground. Behind me, the truck speeds past the alley entrance in search of a clear path. Turning toward the sound, I see Ryk, Jax, and Locke have joined the other raiders in the transport’s cab. They have all donned gas masks, adding weight to my growing worries about contamination.

I tell myself that as long as I don’t touch anything, I will be fine. “No contact, no contamination,” I remind myself. I pull the sleeves of my jacket over my hands just in case.

One life-threatening issue at a time, I remind myself.

Between the obstacles that block the path of their transport and the cover of the surrounding buildings, it’s now much easier to put distance between the raiders and me. The transport fades into silence and a thought occurs: This city is huge and their mobility is limited. If I could just get back to the Dead Woods while they’re stuck tracking me in here, I could make it home.

I double back, my body aching. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve run this far, let alone this fast. The heat is stifling, and sweat has already bled through my shirt to my jacket. I round a corner and find myself back on the street with the gated stairwell. I’ve almost reached the alley when I stop short.

“There you are, firecracker,” Ryk says as he steps out of the shadows. His voice is garbled through his mask, but the malice in it still rings clear. Without giving him time for another word, I turn and take off in the opposite direction, only to be forced to a stop by two new raiders as they step into the road.

Trapped.

The alley is out of reach behind Ryk, thirty feet away, and the next cross street lies just behind the new raiders. The long buildings on either side of me leave no gaps, other than the black gate to the right.

“City people are so predictable,” says one of the raiders, balancing a long metal staff on his shoulders. “The first sign of freedom and they head for home.”

The other raider’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. “This one’s going to be a lot of fun, I can tell.”

I take a step backwards as the two of them watch me hungrily. Then, simultaneously, they move toward me and I know that Ryk has motioned them forward.

I pivot to ensure Ryk can’t grab me from behind, and continue to edge backwards, my back to the gate. My head whips from left to right as the threats on either side of me close in. All three raiders move slowly, building up my panic, savoring my fear. I take one final step backwards and feel the cool metals bars of the gate through the material of my jacket. The padlock hooked into the chain digs into my hip.

This is it. I close my eyes for half of a second and take a deep breath. Contact.

Gripping the sleeves of my jacket over my fists, I spin around and stick my boots through the bars of the gate, hoisting myself up. I hear the raiders’ pace quicken as they realize what I’m doing, but I have the advantage of the past three years spent climbing over walls. I hold my breath as I quickly scale up and over the top of the gate.

I drop down on the other side, unable to suppress the victorious smile that breaks out on my face. It is short-lived, however, as I’m suddenly yanked backward. I hit the gate, hard, the back of my head slamming into the metal bars.

“Enough.” I hear Ryk’s growl over the ringing in my ears. His hand tightens around the fistful of my jacket he’s grabbed; he thrusts his other arm through the bars, and pins me across my neck. “I got you now, little girl. Fun’s over.”

He is so strong. I struggle against his crushing hold, barely able to unzip my jacket with what little arm movement I have. My movements cause the sleeve of his coat to ride up, and a gap of skin appears at his wrist.

“You’re right,” I gasp, “it is.” I turn my head and bite down on his wrist as hard as I can; I taste blood on my tongue as Ryk cries out. He loosens his hold, giving me just enough room to wiggle out of my jacket, which is still gripped tightly in his other hand. I flee in the only direction I can: down.

I bound down the stairs two at a time, holding my arms to my chest as I descend into darkness. I feel vulnerable without my jacket, but I don’t have time to be concerned about my clothing situation. If I become contaminated, sure, there’s a chance I could die. If Ryk catches me at this point, though, I’m sure I will be begging for death.

I hear the protest of metal wrenching against metal as the raiders break through the gate behind me. I hit the bottom of the stairwell with a thud, and the sudden lack of a next stair throws me off balance. I am a long way down. I reach out instinctively and blindly grab hold of a railing I wasn’t aware was there, steadying myself before following it forward in the pitch black.

So much for not touching anything.

Faint beams of light come from behind me as the raiders’ flashlights search ahead of them. By the sound of it, they aren’t running, but they’re still gaining on me. I try to speed up, using the dim light to avoid the debris on the ground, but my legs are weak. My adrenaline seems to be running out; I don’t know how much further I can go.

The railing runs out abruptly and I catch myself before plunging headfirst into a pit that has appeared in front of me. The wavering light from the flashlights is too dim to see how wide it is or how deep it goes, but I’ve run out of pavement. Sucking in a nervous breath, I sit down on the edge of the platform and dangle my legs over the edge. I flip around and slowly lower myself down, breathing through my teeth as my still-raw palms press against the rough pavement, prepared to hang off the side until I find the bottom. My careful descent turns out to be unnecessary; my feet hit something firm before the platform has even passed my chest.

I release myself and let my eyes adjust to survey the area. The pit is narrow but long, a tunnel within the tunnel I’m already in. It stretches out seemingly infinitely on either side.

I quickly recollect a history lesson we were given on the Skyline Transfer. Our teacher told us that the technology was loosely based on the underground train systems that used to run underneath all the major cities, a maze of connecting tunnels and shafts. When solar power became the name of the energy game and cities took to the skies, however, the underground system was shut down. The tracks were pulled up to be recycled and the entrances were sealed off. Thus, the Skyline Transfer was born and the rest fell into the history books.

As if on cue, the flashlight beams suddenly brighten. Across the pit, I can see the entrance to another tunnel on the opposite platform. I can only pray there’s a stairway that leads back to the surface at the end of it.

The surface. I never thought I’d want to feel the blistering sun so badly.

I stumble forward across the pit until I hit the platform on the other side, but my arms give out when I try to hoist myself up. My head bangs against the edge of the platform as my hand slips out from under me. I squeeze my eyelids tightly shut to halt the prickle of tears that immediately spring up in response to the pain. When I reopen my eyes, my vision is slashed with streaks of white. I try to lift myself onto the platform again, to no avail. I can’t get up. With my head pulsing and the raiders closing in, I blindly choose a direction and set off down the tunnel.

I see the tunnel suddenly illuminate around me before I hear the raider’s yell.

“Got her!” The sound is victorious and terrifying. With the flashlight lighting my path from behind, I immediately understand why. An enormous wall made up of huge metal panels stands twenty feet in front of me, blocking off the rest of the tunnel from top to bottom.

“No…” A small cry escapes my lips. Barricaded in front, raiders at my back. There’s nowhere left to run. I reach the wall and pound on it hopelessly, my fists echoing against the steel. The adrenaline that has been propelling me drains from my body as my impending defeat washes over me. A muffled ringing fills my ears, pressing against my brain, and I feel an icy chill in my cheeks, which should still be hot from the chase. The throbbing rhythm in my head calls forth a cool darkness that begins to seep into the edges of my consciousness.

A surge of light suddenly blinds me. Strong arms wrap around me, wrenching me from the wall. The arms are bare; I can feel the smooth skin against my own. I wonder with detached interest why the raiders would take off their jackets after going through the trouble of using masks and gloves up top.

My instincts tell me to struggle but it just seems so futile, I simply let my captor pull me back. Through the fog of the spreading blackness, I hear screams of outrage.

Why are they mad? They’ve caught me.

I am shoved from behind and burst through a door into impossible sunlight. I blink rapidly; my eyes, adjusted for the blackness of the tunnel, burn in response to the sudden brightness. I reach up to rub them and find them wet. The light must be making them water. Yes, that must be it.

A heavy hammering echoes from behind me, fists banging against metal, but the darkness and pain in my head has consumed me. I spin around just in time to see bare arms reaching for me, before I crumple to the ground.

Chapter 6

My head throbs. It is a relentless, pounding ache—the kind that starts in one spot but slowly spreads with each pulse. A twinge in my throat tells me that I’m thirsty, too. Really thirsty. How long was I out?

I am lying down, I know that much. I feel like I’m level with the ground, but something softer than dirt cushions the length of my body. The backs of my eyelids are a bright, fiery red; apparently, I didn’t hallucinate the brightness that encompassed me before I passed out. I try to remember those last moments in the tunnel, but everything is still fuzzy.

Green. I remember seeing the color green before I blacked out. There was green and there was sunlight and there was… someone.

My eyes fly open. The eruption of light forces me to immediately shut them again. The cursory glimpse, paired with my instincts, tells me that I am alone… but I could have sworn there was someone else. Someone who caught me before I fell. A raider? Couldn’t be. Aside from my head, parched throat, and the soreness I can already feel in my muscles, I am completely unharmed. I highly doubt that after the chase I gave them they would do me the courtesy of letting me die by way of headache.

I squint as I try to open my eyes again. I don’t understand how I’m back outside. The last thing I remember is pounding against the metal wall in the subway tunnel as the raiders closed in. It had felt like a death sentence, yet somehow I made it back to the surface? And not just back to the ruins from where I descended either; I must be back outside of the District. My hasty preview of the area overhead was decidedly lacking in tall, dilapidated buildings.

I shake my head, trying to make sense of my fuzzy thoughts, and immediately regret it.

Ow. I wince and raise a hand to cover my brow.

With the smallest movement I can manage, I lift my head and slowly reopen my eyes. I soak in my surroundings, quickly realizing why the color green sticks out so vividly in my memory: it is everywhere.

My senses are on overload. Green covers the ground. It lines the edges of a small, clear, freestanding pool of water that sits a few yards away. It bursts from the tips of trees in the background.

I’ve never seen so much green. I’ve never been anywhere so much green exists. In addition to news, reality shows, and occasional specials the Tribunal airs on TV, they often feature educational programming. The topics range from the history of the Skyfall to the water purification and food manufacturing processes. Once, during a show that focused on the latter, I saw shots of an agricultural plant on the skycity, Daedryl. Up there, above the cloud layer—where the rain can’t burn through them—things grow.

It’s too expensive to transport the fresh stuff to the groundworld, of course, but at least this way we could see what it looked like in its natural state, before it is turned into the nutrient-rich but thoroughly disgusting stuff we terrestrials subsist on. Given the unceasing dusty brownness of the groundworld, my favorite part of the program was the colors of the produce: vibrant reds, oranges, and, of course, greens. That was nothing compared to what I’m seeing now.

I prop myself up on my elbow a little too quickly; the change in elevation causes pain to immediately rush to my temple. As I wait for the ache to subside, I flex my hand against the green ground and feel soft, springy blades poke up in the spaces between my fingers. I grasp one and try to pull it up, but it tears halfway down, leaving behind a tiny jagged base that I quickly lose sight of as the rest of the blades sway in the breeze and swallow it up. Grass. Not the fake plastic turf that decorates skycity residences. Real grass.

As I sit up, I watch in wonder as the breeze slowly sweeps across the ground, skimming the surface of the pool and causing delicate ripples to spread across the water. The air is so clear and weightless, I’ve barely noticed it until now. I suck in a deep breath, amazed at the temperature. It’s cool and dry, so unlike the stifling air I’m used to. It might even feel cold, if I didn’t have the sun pleasantly warming my skin.

Ha, I scoff mentally. Never thought there’d be a day when I’d consider the sun pleasant.

I turn my eyes skyward, only to realize that, while I can see the effects of its illumination and can feel its rays beaming on my back, there’s no actual sun in sight. The sky is vividly blue but entirely empty.

I stand up, slowly. The ache in my head has dwindled to a soft thumping, but the thirst burning in my throat is more acute now. I look longingly at the clear water in the pond, almost within reach, and desperately wish it were filtered and safe to drink. I force myself to look away. It’s then that I see it: the metal barricade behind me, an exact copy of the one that had barred my way in the underground tunnel. It suddenly occurs to me that I may not have made it to the surface after all.

The wall stretches twenty feet straight up, made of dark matte metal panels bolted to one another with shiny silver rivets. At the top, incredibly, it seems to meld right into the calm blue sky. Lush landscape stretches on all sides. It’s as if the plates just happened to fall into place in that spot—an expanse of exposed metal unattached to anything. I’m not sure how it’s even staying upright.

I walk over to the wall and touch a single finger to its surface. I trace a line along the cool metal and, upon reaching the edge, attempt to curl the rest of my fingers around the side. My fingers hit firm resistance in what should be thin air. I push against the spot with both hands. Beneath my palms, I feel the same smooth metal, even though my eyes tell me that I should be falling forward into the open space.

I step back and blink, slowly and purposefully. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought. I run my eyes up the wall in disbelief. Where I had thought that the landscape continued beyond, I now see that it ends right in front of me. It’s so subtle I probably would never have noticed if I weren’t standing inches from it. I can just barely make out where the cloudless sky ends—right where it meets the panels at the top of the wall.

I pound on the fake landscape lightly. A moment passes. Then something on the other side thumps back at me, hard.

“What in the name of…?” I back away from the boundary, unable to look away. My feet stutter as I collide with something behind me.

“Pretty neat, isn’t it?” The voice, soft and calm in my ear, immediately sets me back on red alert. I have backed up into not something, but someone. Instinct takes over, and before my brain can fully react, my fist swings up behind my head. It connects with something soft but firm, and I hear a stunned yelp as I pull away. I swivel around, both of my hands curled into fists and raised comically in front of me like I’m prepared to box with the stranger.

“What the hell!” He is bent over, his hands at his face. “You’re a lot stronger than you look,” he mumbles into his palms.

The stranger in front of me is pale. The light skin covering his arms is smooth and spotless, starkly lacking the freckles that pepper my own golden skin.

“Who are you?” I shout. He ignores the question as he straightens up, one hand grazing against his ribs, like he’s checking for something, the other still prodding gently at his mouth. Part of me notes with satisfaction that his lower lip is bleeding.

He runs his other hand over his head, brushing his fingers through cropped blond hair, still mumbling. The words “grateful” and “know better” jump out at me.

The stranger looks to be about my age, maybe a little older. He’s a full head taller than me. His blue eyes, squinting in pain, are framed with thick, dark blond lashes. His eyes simultaneously alarm and fascinate me. They’re blue, so it’s clear he’s a skyboy. But his eyes are not the icy, fragile blue that peers out from the eyes of elite skydwellers like the Primes of the Tribunal or the Elders—those that have never even set foot on the ground. It’s a bold, iridescent hue I have never seen before—swirls of cobalt and indigo, sapphire and cerulean.

He releases his face to hold up his arms, palms out in surrender. Through the fabric of his shirt—a thin, metallic weave I’m not familiar with—I can see the outline of the muscles in his forearms, flexed in response to my attack. His nostrils flare with each sharp intake of breath, and his expression seems to fall somewhere between fear and curiosity.

I decide that he doesn’t seem particularly inclined to attack. He certainly doesn’t look like a raider, at any rate. I drop my arms but keep them loose and ready.

“Who are you?” I ask again, sharply.

He doesn’t respond.

“What is this place? Where am I?”

After what feels like an inappropriately long pause, he draws a slow breath. “Earth?” His voice is smooth and rich behind his apprehension.

I groan and lift a hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation. “Fantastic,” I grumble. “I’m having some sort of dehydration-induced hallucination with a total stranger, but at least he’s providing comic relief.”

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I asked you first,” I retort. His mouth curves up slightly, fighting a nervous grin. He looks at me amusedly and we stand for another few moments in a silent stalemate.

“My name is Adam,” he says finally.

“Wow,” I say, failing to stifle a giggle that burns my dry throat.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that I don’t think I’ve met anyone under the age of 80 named Adam,” I say deliriously. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve met anyone with that name, period. Guess your parents must have a serious soft spot for old-fashioned stuff, huh?”

“Must be,” he says, frowning slightly.

“So Adam,” I can’t help chuckling when I say his name, “What exactly are you doing here?”

He says nothing and my frustration returns.

“At the very least, can you tell me what the hell that is?” I jab a finger in the direction of the wall, still looming ominously over us.

“It’s a wall,” he says slowly.

I stare at him. “I know it’s a wall. You said something about it back there before I, um…” I glance guiltily at the fresh split in his bottom lip and trail off. “What, uh, what did you mean?”

“You already figured it out, didn’t you? I saw you pushing on the camouflage. We’re not actually outside.”

Even though I had already considered the possibility, it is still jarring to hear my theory confirmed. “So, right now, we’re still underground?”

“Of course,” he replies as if this is a perfectly natural thing. “This is just a really well-made encapsulation dome,” he continues, looking around speculatively. “I’ve never seen one quite this… beautiful before. Usually it’s more obvious where the boundary is, but this is pretty finessed. I mean, obviously, these panels right here are broken,” he walks over and runs his hand down the front, “but it does make it easier to find the door.”

“Door?” I rush over to him and run my fingers over the seams between panels. “Where? How do I get out?”

“It’s just a normal exterior exit,” he says matter-of-factly. He presses in on a camouflaged spot just to the left of the metal wall. Looking closely, I can see that it’s a slightly different color than the rest of the “air” around it. Three of the plates shift to reveal a shallow doorway and my jaw goes slack. I’ve never seen anything like this.

“It’s tiresome to search for the exit panels normally, but since these camo panels are malfunctioning, it’s kind of like a landmark. You’re not going to want to go out that way though,” he adds.

“Why not?”

Adam looks uncomfortable but falls silent.

“Okay, look, I don’t have time for this. I need to—” I attempt to stride past him, but my still-weak legs apparently have a different idea. My right knee quivers as I step forward and I collapse into Adam instead.

“Whoa.” He catches me with one arm, propping me up like a rag doll.

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing myself off of him.

“You’re not, clearly.”

“I’ll be fine.” I stumble forward a few steps, but the dehydration and probable concussion make it hard to walk straight. I nearly bite it when my foot catches on something soft, but before I have time to fall, Adam has caught me again.

“Stop helping me,” I hiss through my teeth. I look down to see what I tripped over and my mouth falls open. Mica’s backpack, dirty but completely intact. I pick it up with hasty hands before swiveling around.

“Where did you get this?” I blurt out.

“One of those guys was carrying it,” Adam replies nonchalantly.

“Yes,” I sigh, “I know. But how did you get it?”

He shrugs.

“Those raiders, they took it from me. How did you get it from them?”

He fidgets awkwardly. “Look, I really didn’t mean to make them any angrier than you already had. It’s just that when I grabbed you and saw that he—the, uh, big one—wasn’t about to let you go… I had to subdue them. But as you can tell, they’re awake now, and I think I may have just pissed them off even more. They’ve set up a guard right outside. You heard them pound on the wall a minute ago. Don’t worry,” he adds in response to my sudden look of alarm, “this exterior wall is over two feet thick, and I’ve locked the outside controls. There’s no way they’re getting through.”

I ignore, for the moment, the fact that most of what he just said makes no sense. “So, right through that doorway is the underground tunnel?”

“Yep.”

“And you pulled me out. You brought me in here. You… saved me?”

“Yes.” His eyes blaze with a sudden seriousness.

“Um, well, thank you.” I feel a surge of humbled gratitude flare in my cheeks. “Wait, you ‘subdued’ them?” I ask skeptically, eyeing his frame. Adam looks pretty fit, but the thought of him up against Ryk’s massive girth is ludicrous. “How?”

He shrugs again. I stare at him incredulously, but only for a moment as my throat catches, starting an uncontrollable coughing fit. All this talking has leeched the remaining moisture from my mouth. My free hand rushes to my throat, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I attempt to swallow.

With elation, I remember the canteen in my backpack. I tear open the zipper and pull it out, only to find it completely empty. A strangled sob rips up through my throat and I sink to my knees.

“You don’t sound so good,” Adam says, crouching down with me. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just really thirsty.” I try to say the words casually, but they emerge as a whimper. I sound as pathetic as I feel.

“Hang on.” He snatches the bottle from my hands and returns less than a minute later. “Here,” he says, giving the canteen back to me. Upon hearing the water sloshing inside, I grab it without hesitation and feverishly drink. I feel the cool liquid slide slowly down my throat and hit my stomach.

“Ohhhh,” I exhale, sitting back on my heels once I’ve drained the entire canteen. “I think you just saved my life. For the second time. So… thanks. Again.”

He smiles, a lopsided grin. “Want more?”

“I don’t want to deplete your supply,” I say, trying to mimic his consideration despite how thirsty I still am.

He laughs. “I hardly think you have to worry about that.” He points to the pond.

The pond of unfiltered water.

The realization of what I’ve just poured into my body hits me like a Skyline train.

Chapter 7

“What have you done?” My eyes are wide as I wrap both hands around my throat, grasping wildly as if trying to pull the poisonous water out. “You’ve killed me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“That water isn’t purified,” I gasp. “Why did I even bother running? I really am going to die out here… Mica doesn’t even know where I am…” My thoughts are frantic as I speak them aloud.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

I peer up through my lashes to see Adam staring at me like I am deranged.

He looks at me pointedly. “You really think I’d just give you water from an open source? Of course it’s been filtered, look.” He points to the canteen in my hands, and I notice an unfamiliar metal ring wrapped around the neck.

“I’ve been drinking the same water, using the same portable filter, and I’m still standing,” he finishes.

I lower my hand from my neck and assess myself. Granted, it doesn’t feel like I’m dying.

“How is that possible?” I think aloud, staring at the pool. The purification process for drinkable water takes days. There’s no way the toxins could have been filtered out so quickly. My system should already be shutting down.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Well, at any rate, you can understand why I was alarmed,” I say.

“Sure,” he says, though I feel like he’s just placating me.

“So this… thing,” I say, rapping my fingernails against the metal ring, “is some kind of water filter?”

“Uh, yes?” he answers.

“And you just… fill it up? And it purifies the water? Instantly?” My eyes dart back and forth from the bottle in my hands to the pool, my bewilderment leaving a long, awkward silence between Adam and me.

“So, Mica?” he says, finally breaking the silence. “Who’s that?”

His attempts at empathy are grating.

“He’s my younger brother.” I stand up and am pleased to find how much stronger I feel already. I throw the backpack over my shoulder and walk over to the pool. I bend down and rip a few green blades from the ground, then toss them into the water. They fall gently to the surface, and the absence of hissing and steam confirms that the water’s not acidic.

Tentatively, I dip the canteen into the pool and fill it halfway. I shoot Adam a guarded look and, after he nods, I take a small swig. There’s no burning; not even that metallic aftertaste I’ve become so accustomed to from Marketplace canteens. The bottle is empty again before I know it. I dip it into the cool water a final time, filling it to the top before I screw the cap on and put it back in Mica’s bag.

“Well, thanks,” I say awkwardly. Adam nods and I take off in the opposite direction of the wall, toward the tree line. I am moderately annoyed, but thoroughly unsurprised, when I hear him follow me.

“So now that we’ve established that you’ll live to see another day, how about your name?” he calls to my back.

I ignore him. Now that I’m conscious and rehydrated, I have to get home. Mica must be freaking out. All I need to do is reach the other side of this encapsulation dome, or whatever Adam called it. If it is a dome, I have to hit another wall eventually. As soon as I find it, I can look for another door panel and hopefully get back to the surface far away from wherever the raiders have set up camp.

“If I save your life a third time, will you tell me?”

I frown. I can’t deny the fact that he’s already helped me more than anyone who isn’t related to me would ever bother. And how have I shown my gratitude? By giving him a bloody lip, mocking him, and yelling at him.

I slow my stride to let him catch up. “My name is Terra,” I say as he falls into step beside me.

“Terra?” he says, laughing raucously. “What kind of ridiculous name is that?” I whip my head toward him, affronted, and he shrugs. “Old-fashioned, remember?”

“In my defense,” I say, “I was delirious from dehydration when I said that. I can’t really be held responsible for my words.” My eyes flit to his lower lip. “Or actions.”

“Okay, fair. But that means I can hold you responsible for both from now on, right?”

“I really am fine now,” I say. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Precedence begs to differ,” he says lightly, grinning lopsidedly.

I scowl, and we fall into silence, trekking side-by-side through the greenery. As we work our way further into the woods, fallen leaves and twigs crunch beneath our feet. There are no clear paths marked, so I occasionally have to force my way through thick bushes and groups of branches in order to continue forward.

I can’t keep my eyes from wandering as we trudge along. This forest is so vastly different from the Dead Woods. The trees here are not as tall, nor as thick, but they still take up more room, due to the foliage bursting from their branches. The entire scene is so peaceful. The only sounds other than our footsteps come in the form of the wind rustling through the leaves and the distant babble of running water. The sunlight filters in through the canopy above us, making delightful shadowy patterns on my skin. I’m so captivated that I almost walk right into a low-hanging branch.

I look over to find Adam watching me, his eyes crinkled in a smile. With a huff, I return my gaze to the front.

“So where exactly are we going?” he says.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to find another one of those door panel things so I can go home.” I push a particularly swishy branch out of my way and it snaps back at me, leaving a harsh red welt on my upper arm.

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to ask someone for help? Maybe someone who already knows of another way out? Someone who—oh, I don’t know—has been living down here for the past week and actually knows where he’s going?” he says, graciously ignoring the tears stinging in my eyes.

I am too shocked by his words to notice his criticism. “You know where to go? You’ve been living down here? Why? How did you get here? Why haven’t you left?” The questions spill off of my tongue in a flurry.

“I’ve got questions too, you know. You’re the first person I’ve had contact with since I’ve been down here, and I don’t know anything about how you got here. Other than the whole cornered-by-a-pack-of-large-men thing. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t feel like spilling my guts,” he says calmly, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve already answered more of your questions than you have of mine, and I’m the one who got hit in the face.”

I purse my lips. “Will you at least tell me if I’m going in the right direction?”

“Yes, you are,” he says.

I wait for him to elaborate, but he is silent. “Fine. How about this: You give me an answer, and I give you one. Fair?”

“I won’t say it’s fair, precisely, but sure. Go ahead,” he says.

My head is swirling with questions, so I decide to start from the beginning. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A little while,” he says vaguely. “How did you get here?”

I raise an eyebrow. That’s hardly an answer, I think, but I figure the best way to get him to talk is to humor him. “I was just really in the mood to take a stroll through the contaminated ruins,” I answer sarcastically. “What do you think? I was running from those raiders. How did you get here?”

“Same way you did,” he says with a shrug, “just kind of stumbled into it. What did those guys want with you?”

“Same thing they want with any girl. Something tells me they’re not used to running into female scavs.”

Adam absorbs the word, puzzled, but doesn’t ask me to clarify.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I’m Adam. I thought we’d met.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

I give him the side eye, irritated by his continued evasiveness.

“My turn again,” he says. “I probably should’ve opened with this, but are you all right?”

I feel a crease appear in my forehead as I contemplate the sincerity of his concern. “Um… yeah. I mean, I will be. I feel much better already.” I duck below an overhanging branch. “Thanks,” I add as an afterthought.

“You’re welcome,” he replies.

“So what are you doing down here?” I ask.

“I got… lost.” He tries to keep the word light, but something else lurks behind it. “What did you do to make those guys so mad?”

I pause for a second. “I may or may not have kneed their leader in the balls.”

Adam laughs. “That explains a lot.”

“What were you doing in the ruins in the first place?” I ask.

“Exploring,” he says casually, plucking a large leaf from above his head. He holds it by the stem and twirls it between his fingers. “I’m on assignment, for my job. I’m trying to get more familiar with things down here.” He lets the leaf fall from his fingers; it floats gently as it joins the rest of the foliage decorating the forest floor. “How old are you? Your brother? Your parents?”

I scrutinize his face. Why is he so interested in our ages? “People down here are usually just about the age they look. I’m eighteen. Mica is thirteen, which, as you probably remember, is a really lovely time in male adolescence. Our parents are… gone.”

Adam slows his step. I look back at him over my shoulder, and see an unfamiliar expression on his face.

“What happened?” he says tentatively, after a pause.

I shrug and slow down with him. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Our mom died shortly after Mica was born and our father,” I can’t quite contain my bitterness as I spit the word out, “took off a few years later. Chances are he’s dead by now too. Our grandmother was taking care of Mica and me until… well, she’s gone too.” I try to keep my voice indifferent, but it hitches over the last few words. “I don’t really like talking about them.”

I glance over at Adam. The distrust in his expression has melted into compassion. It makes me instantly uncomfortable.

I clear my throat and start to walk more quickly again. Adam matches my pace. “Right. My turn again,” I say. “If you know how to get out of here, why haven’t you left?”

“Don’t have anywhere else to be,” he says with a laugh, though a frown plays at the corner of his lips. His face perks up again after a moment. “I’ve done some exploring up top, but I don’t have any idea where to go from there. Where are you from?”

“Sixteen.”

Adam looks at me blankly, and I have to remind myself that a skydweller wouldn’t know one settlement from another based on number alone. They need continent and territory titles, too. “Genesis X-16,” I say.

“Genesis X-16,” Adam repeats quietly, as if he’s testing the words out. “That’s a mouthful.”

“The sixteenth settlement on the eastern seaboard of the Genesis continent. I thought they would have at least taught you guys the formula for how the groundworld is laid out. ”

Adam’s face scrunches up, like he’s trying to remember something, but he relaxes after a moment. “So where is Sixteen exactly? How did you get here from there?”

“Tsk, that’s more than one question, and it’s not even your turn,” I chastise. “It’s kind of a long story. Scavenging and raiders and running… God, so much running. Let’s just say it was never my plan to cross the quarantine line. I won’t even bother asking where you’re from.”

“Oh?” he says apprehensively.

“Who can even tell one skycity from the next?” Adam looks like he wants to interject, but I continue. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Each city is special, each has its thing. Korbyllis is the Capital, Lexicon’s a dream for entertainment junkies, and most modern tech is manufactured on Altara. Blah, blah, blah. They’re all the same to me. It’s obvious enough you’re a skyboy, so who really cares which city you descended from?” I cut myself off, literally biting my tongue to keep the rest of my contemptuous speech at bay. This is my first real interaction with a skydweller who’s even close to my age, and so far Adam seems all right. A little cocky, maybe, but not bad. I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“It’s obvious, huh?” Adam says.

“Need me to list it out for you?”

“Please.” He looks curious, amused.

I roll my eyes and tick the reasons off one by one on my fingers. “One, you have no idea where Sixteen is, even though we’re one of the largest settlements on Genesis. Two, somehow you know a ton about the technology in this place, whereas I’ve never even heard of, let alone seen, most of this stuff. Evidently, they teach you guys a little something extra up there.” I almost add a nasty remark about the implicit unfairness in that, but manage to keep my commentary to myself.

It’s not his fault he was born into a life of privilege, I tell myself.

“Three, it’s clear you’ve hardly spent any time in the sun without a UV filter over your head. And lastly, even if all of those other factors weren’t present, your eyes would still give you away. I’ve never even seen eyes that blue down here.”

Adam cocks his head to the side.

“You should probably get back up top soon if you want to keep them like that, by the way,” I tease. “Sure, right now it’s early days. But stay down here too long and you’ll end up with a set of greeners. Or maybe a light hazel. And if you’re truly unlucky, you’ll end up with these muddy things for the rest of your life.” I widen my eyes and blink purposefully into his face, affecting an angelic expression.

“Noted,” he says with a laugh. “Whose question is it now?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Pretty useless to strike a deal if you’re not keeping track.”

“Okay, fine, I have one more,” I say after a beat. “Why did you save me? There could have been a dozen raiders closing in on me. You could have been hurt.” My mind flashes with the image of Adam prostrate on the tunnel floor, heavy boots kicking at his side, and I feel a pang in my chest.

He looks down for a moment before replying. “How could I not?”

His eyes meet mine so fiercely that I have to look away. I feel heat in my cheeks. With that, our mutual inquisition ends.

I plod along through the forest, a step behind Adam. It takes me a second to realize that he’s subtly taken the lead. I’ve been following him for a while now and haven’t even noticed.

“Hey!” I cry out, making him stop short. “I told you, I don’t need your help. I can find my own way out of here.” My boast is good-natured, egging him on as I amble off in a different direction.

“Stop.” Adam’s response is not as agreeable. The air becomes suddenly serious. Threatening. I look behind me and see the outline of a pair of squat gray buildings behind the tree line. Where has he been leading me?

I quicken my pace, turning back into the forest.

“Terra, stop!” he yells. I cringe at the intensity in his voice; I don’t think I have another chase in me today.

“Watch out!” His shout comes after I’ve already heard the snap. I throw my gaze skyward and see a heavy branch plummeting toward me.

I fling myself to the ground with my arms wrapped protectively around my head. A moment passes but no crash sounds. Assuming that the branch got caught somewhere above me, I open my eyes and have to stifle a gasp.

The thick tree limb hovers three inches from my face, suspended in midair. It’s even bigger than I thought, easily 90 pounds of solid oak. I hear a grunt and turn my head just in time to see Adam, ten feet away, wave his outstretched arm. The branch drifts to the side before dropping to the ground next to me with a thud.

I lie still, paralyzed by what I’ve just seen. Adam stands with his hands over his ribs, his chest heaving from obvious exertion. After a moment, he slowly walks over to me and offers me his hand. Cautiously, I take it and he pulls me upright.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“I have another question,” I say shakily, dusting myself off. “What the hell was that?”

Chapter 8

“What was that?” I say again, more accusingly this time. “What did you just do?”

“Are you okay?” he repeats purposefully, ignoring my question. “You’re lucky. If you’d been just a few inches over, that branch would’ve nailed you.” Adam’s innocent banter is infuriating.

My eyes narrow into a glare. “Don’t you dare do that.”

“Do what?” he says.

“Play dumb with me. I know what I saw. You… you moved the branch. You stopped it from hitting me.”

“How might I have accomplished that?” he asks blankly. “I was back there when it fell.”

“I don’t know!” I yell, throwing my hands up in frustration. “I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me anything about yourself. I can barely get a straight answer out of you.”

“You’re not exactly an open book yourself.”

“Well, I’m not the one who can move things without touching them! So who are you, really?” I sway a little on my feet. The adrenaline that sparked through my veins as I leapt from the branch starts to leave my system, taking with it what little strength I’ve regained. I’m suddenly aware of just how hard I’ve pushed myself today.

Adam draws a deep breath and lightly touches his middle finger to the split on his lip. “Okay, fine,” he says solemnly. “I’ll explain, just come with me.”

“Where?” I eye the gray buildings, still visible in the background despite my panic-driven detour. “You said you knew a raider-free way out of here, so where is it already?”

“It really is all questions, all the time with you, isn’t it?” he says with a shaky laugh.

“So I should just follow you blindly? If you can’t trust me, why the hell should I trust you? You may be some kind of underground superhero, but I’m not stupid.”

He searches my face, but I lock it into a scowl. “You look like you’re about to keel over,” he says. “When’s the last time you ate something?”

“Stop changing the subject,” I say, but he’s already walking back toward the buildings.

I balk as my stomach growls loudly, right on cue. My dinner with Mica last night feels like it was ages ago. I briefly estimate how much time has passed since I left on my clandestine scavenging run; it must be at least midday by now. I wish I had eaten something before I left.

“All right, all right!” I call out. Adam is already a good distance ahead. “Hold up.”

I fall into step behind him. I contemplate asking him more questions, but the hard set of his jaw tells me there’s little point.

We approach the twin buildings in silence. When we’re close, I see that they’re not separate buildings, but two towers that share a base. A continuous row of windows wraps around the first floor, broken only by a set of double doors.

“What is this place?”

“Patience isn’t one of your virtues, I’m noticing.” He leads me around the side, where a window has been smashed in. I raise my eyebrow and he chuckles. “It was like this when I found it,” he says defensively.

“Have something against doors?” I ask.

“It’s on lockdown. I tried overriding the system to open them up, but I think they’re synced up to a biometric lock.” He hops through the makeshift doorway, giving a wide berth to the broken glass still clinging to the edge of the window frame, then turns back and offers me his hand. I don’t have the kind of height he does, so I grab his palm reluctantly. With one easy pull, I’m suddenly inside; I barely even felt myself move. I yank my hand back as soon as I’ve cleared the glass.

We are inside a small white room. Adam opens the door on the far side and ushers me into a dark, windowless hallway. The light from the small room illuminates the hall just enough for me to see where I’m walking.

I follow Adam down the hallway until we reach a set of swinging doors that he pushes open to reveal a cavernous room filled with workspaces. Rows of shiny metal desks cross the room lengthwise, all facing a heavily windowed wall that looks out onto the forest. Light streams in through the windows, and near them I see double doors that indicate we’re just on the other side of the main entrance.

Adam immediately heads for the back of the room while I take in the setup. Computer monitors sit on each desk, their casings cracked open, wires and components spilling out. I walk up the row in front of me and can instantly tell that the computers are very old. They’re far more ancient than Mica’s secondhand PC—the one luxury our father left us. Chairs with wheels attached to their legs are intermingled with the desks, some upright, some tipped over.

The back row of desks stands out from the wreckage, and I walk back to inspect it more closely. The computer that sits on the end boasts a small green light. It blinks wildly; unlike the others, this unit has power. An array of silver instruments is laid out next to it, arranged by size. Beside them is a tablet computer that resembles the ones Collection Agents use, as well as a lockbox, an innocuous-looking metal cylinder about the length of my hand, and several thick metal rings like the one currently attached to my canteen. I take off Mica’s backpack and lay it on a desk, then pull out my bottle to confirm the rings are the same. A portable filter, Adam called it.

Rage suddenly flares up inside me. Because of these little things, skydwellers have access to clean, drinkable water whenever they want, while we’re stuck purchasing canteen refills every week from the Marketplace.

I glance back at Adam, who is crouched in the corner of the room near a small pile of blankets and pillows—a crude bed. My anger dissolves into surprise as he lifts his shirt and pulls it off, revealing an enormous yellowing bruise along his right side. A swirled mass of green, yellow, and gray stretches from the dip of his waist to his shoulder. My first thought is that the raiders must have gotten a few good hits in while Adam was saving me, and guilt washes over me. But, jarring as the bruise looks, as I watch him I realize it has already been healing for a while.

Adam discards his silvery shirt—it shimmers slightly as he drops it to the floor—and pulls a clean white undershirt off a short stack at the foot of the makeshift bed. He crouches down to root around in the blankets and tosses a small rectangular packet in my direction, before putting on the clean shirt. I reach to catch the packet, but am distracted by the brief flash of pain that crosses Adam’s face as he pulls the shirt on, and I miss. The packet lands on the desk next to me, displacing the metal tools with a jingle.

Adam laughs as I eye the packaging—blue with gold stripes—suspiciously. “Food,” he says with a hint of exasperation.

My stomach rumbles and I rip open the packaging. Inside is a bar of tiny round grains that are pressed together. I take a tentative bite. It’s chewy and sweet.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice garbled as I cram another bite into my mouth. Despite the bar’s small size, my hunger is rapidly disappearing. “Am I allowed to ask questions now?”

“I suppose,” Adam says resignedly. He sits down in a nearby chair and rolls over to me.

“How did you stop that branch?”

Adam avoids my eyes, his lips set in a line. He’s guarding himself.

“You promised me answers,” I remind him.

“I never promised anything,” he says. “It’s… it’s not that simple to explain.”

“It’s can’t be that hard,” I persist. “Just tell me already.”

“So you’re allowed to have things you don’t want to talk about but I’m not? How about I make you talk about your parents some more before you get all the nitty gritty details of my life?”

His defensiveness catches me off guard. “Okay,” I say after a moment of stunned silence, “I’ll start with something easier then. Where are we?” I pick up one of the filter rings and thread my finger through it.

“We’re in the research complex for this biodome,” he says, visibly relaxing.

“Oh, right. Of course. How silly of me. The research complex. The biodome,” I say, rolling my eyes.

He shrugs.

“We are underground, in the ruins,” I say. “Nobody’s been here for centuries, and yet somehow you just happen to find this whole world down here. With green trees and sunlight and wind and fake walls that look like the sky.” I start to pace and the volume of my voice rises uncontrollably. “How do trees grow underground?”

“It’s all self-contained. There’s an irrigation system that runs underneath the dome, cycling the water through a series of reservoirs and filters. It can’t actually rain down here, so that’s how the grass and trees get their water. The sunlight doesn’t really come from the sun, either. There are UV lights built into the ceiling panels. This entire biodome was created to simulate the outside atmosphere. I suspect that this complex was built to monitor and observe it, hence all the windows.”

“And you know all this how?” I ask skeptically.

He gestures toward the computer sitting idly on the table. “It’s amazing what a little research will get you,” he says flippantly.

I glare at him. “So what are you doing here, really?”

“I already told you, I’m exploring. I’m on a… a fact-finding mission. I came down here to do some research and I just happened to find this place.”

“So what, you’re like, a scientist? You work for the Tribunal?”

“Something like that,” he says. He looks away, suddenly fixating his gaze on a spot just behind my head. I turn to see what he’s looking at, but my eyes meet the blank wall.

I walk over to an overturned chair and pull it upright. My eyes are fixed on Adam’s face, trying to figure out what he isn’t telling me. As I bend to sit down, the backs of my knees hit the seat and it rolls out from under me. I yelp as my backside connects with the hard floor.

“Graceful,” he says with a laugh.

“Shut up.” I pull myself up into the chair, my cheeks blazing. “What are you looking for? With your research, I mean. It must be pretty valuable intel for you to be willing to live down here for it.”

Adam swivels nervously in his chair for a moment before answering. “I wasn’t originally meant to stay. It wasn’t supposed to just be me. There were four of us on the research team. We all came down together but… I got separated from them.” I can tell he’s trying to make it sound casual, but there is emotion behind his words.

“You got lost,” I say, repeating his words from earlier.

Adam nods.

“Why hasn’t anyone come to find you?”

“It’s a long-term mission. Job’s not done.”

“So they just left you here,” I say, unable to keep the disapproval out of my voice. Now those are the kind of skydwellers I know—the kind who just pick up and leave when things get rough.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Try me.” Why would the Tribunal bother sending a research team down to the ruins now? If there was some kind of valuable technology or research here, I’m sure they would have retrieved it long ago. “I can handle it,” I add.

Adam looks at me for a moment and exhales. He slowly lifts his arm, then flicks his wrist toward his face. I feel the soles of my shoes scrape against the floor as my chair glides toward him, through no effort on my part.

I let out a surprised shout and jump out of my seat, kicking the chair away from me. It hits one of the desks with a clang, leaving the table askew. “Okay, that! What the hell was that?”

“It’s just something I can do,” Adam says calmly. He holds his hands up in front of him, palms out, like he did when we first met. I have to remind myself that was only a few hours ago.

“I knew it. I knew that you did something to the branch.”

He shrugs that infuriating shrug.

“Right. Telekinesis. No big deal.” A tense silence fills the space between us. “Can everyone do that? Up there, I mean? Is this just another thing you all get that we don’t?”

He pauses for a moment. “No, not exactly. Not everyone,” he says finally, smiling before he adds, “Still feel like you can handle it?”

I hop up onto the table behind me and cross my arms defiantly, leaving my legs dangling off the side. I force a casual expression onto my face as if to say, Bring it on. Adam gets out of his chair and picks up the tablet computer from his desk. I can’t see the screen from my perch, but after a few moments of tapping, he turns it toward me. Words and numbers scroll across the screen, too quickly for me to read.

“Data,” he says matter-of-factly. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small metal square that he plugs directly into the side of the tablet. “Thanks to you, I was actually able to net a lot of information from the raiders.”

“Uh, you’re welcome,” I reply. Ryk’s face suddenly pops up on the screen and I scoot back in surprise. “Wait, how…?”

“It’s just data I collected after… after you were safe,” he says, putting the tablet down on the desktop next to me, so I can see more clearly. Upon closer inspection of the image, I see that Ryk’s eyes are closed and his head hangs to the side.

“So this is what a ‘subdued’ raider looks like, huh? What did you do to him?”

“Gave him a bad headache to wake up to, is all. Then I scanned his image, jotted down some notes, and took a couple of samples.”

“Samples?” I say skeptically.

Adam reaches back into his pocket and pulls out a silver cylinder, identical to the one already on the table. He flicks open the top, revealing a stack of slides inside.

“I told you, I’m here on a research assignment. Fact-finding. So I’m finding facts. That includes ones about the people living down here.”

“Are you going to take samples from me, too?” I eye the cylinder suspiciously.

“Only if you want to give them to me.”

“You didn’t ask the raiders for their permission.”

“Well, they didn’t really give me a chance to ask nicely, did they?” Adam picks the tablet back up, unplugging the drive. “I could use a picture, if you’re willing.” Before I have a chance to object, a flash emanates from the little square in his hand. When my eyes refocus, Adam has a wide smile plastered on his face.

“Hey! No, no way. What do you think you’re doing? Delete that.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” He plugs the drive back into the tablet. A second later, my own startled expression is staring out at me. He runs his fingers over the screen and my image disappears. “There. Gone forever. Happy?”

I suddenly have a hunch as to his intentions during our interrogation: asking about my age, my family situation, Sixteen. He was mining for data. The realization makes me angry, though more at myself than at him. It’s not as if anything I told him is top-secret, after all, but I’m not exactly eager to get my personal info in the hands of the Tribunal. Plus, I’m irked by the way his questioning had made me feel. Did I honestly think he was interested in getting to know me?

Silly girl.

“You sure have a lot of stuff for someone who was stranded down here without the rest of your team,” I say, surveying the various tools still laid out on the table. Adam lifts his head and follows my gaze.

“Not really,” he says, turning his eyes back to the screen in his hands. “Just the basics. Scanning equipment, water filters, nutrition bars, and a sustenance generator. Odds and ends.”

“Sustenance generator?”

Adam is lost in the data flowing across his tablet. I stare at him in silence for a moment, hopeful that the admittance of his abilities is an indication that he’s more open to my questions.

“It’s back there, in the pack by the bed,” he says without looking up. “Along with a few other things. Feel free to check them out if you’re so fascinated.”

I trot to the back of the room to survey the rest of Adam’s impossible wares. Aside from an array of nutrition bars and empty wrappers dotting the floor, there isn’t much. I can’t help but wonder where he got the undershirts, blankets, and pillows. They’re way too big to fit in the silver “pack” that sits near the foot of his improvised bed. Rectangular and thin, the two straps on one side are the only things that make the pack seem remotely bag-like. In fact, with the stiff set of its open flaps, it looks more like a large book. If it weren’t for the strange-looking box laying half-inside the pack’s open mouth, I wouldn’t even believe it could hold anything. The box is just slightly larger than the palm of my hand, with a wide slot in the middle surrounded by metal teeth.

“What’s this?” I ask, picking up the small metal mouth and showing it to Adam.

He looks up for a split-second before returning his gaze to the screen. “That’s the sustenance generator. Put any organic matter in there and it’ll churn out the nutrients in edible form. I haven’t had to use it yet, but I’ll be glad to have it when I run out of bars.”

“Huh,” I murmur, intrigued. “Any matter?”

“Sure, although obviously plant-based tends to be preferred.”

“You skyboys have it even better than I thought. I guess a sustenance generator wouldn’t do us much good anyway, though. You may not have noticed, but it’s not quite as lush on the surface as it is down here.”

“You never know. Tree bark, rocks… you’d be surprised what that thing can shake out. And worst comes to worst, there’s always hair. Tastes awful, but you’d be surprised what you’re willing to stomach in a pinch. Just don’t put your finger in there,” he cautions. “I know more than one person who’s made that mistake before.”

My face screws up in disgust and Adam laughs. “I’m joking,” he says. “Lighten up.”

Annoyed, I kneel to replace the generator in Adam’s pack. I’m about to stand back up when a glint of shiny metal catches my eye, just off to the side, half buried underneath the corner of a pillow that’s flopped onto the floor. It’s a bit bigger than I remember, but there’s no mistaking it.

The machine. Just like the one I found in the Dead Woods.

Just like the one that began all of this.

Chapter 9

I reach out and pick up the machine, testing its familiar weight in my palm.

“And this?” I call back to Adam, trying to keep a tone of indifference to my voice. “What’s this?”

He looks up and his eyes meet my mine for a split second. I quickly look away.

“Oh, that’s nothing really,” he says, returning his gaze to the screen in his hands without missing a beat. “Just part of an old biostatic conversion unit. It’s broken, I meant to trash it.”

“Oh,” I say, turning my back to him. I know it’s wrong to take it, but explaining my interest in a piece of broken skyworld technology might elicit too many questions from Adam, and I’ve given him enough information for one day.

There’s another 3,000 credits attached to this. That would be enough for Mica—it’d have to be. It’s trash to Adam anyway, he said so himself…

My mind goes through a list of justifications as I slip the machine into my pocket. It causes the fabric to bulge out so noticeably that I might as well have a sign attached to my leg. I quickly stand and head towards my backpack, hoping to put the machine inside, but the movement draws Adam’s attention and I can’t make the switch. Instead, I hold the pack in front of my leg in an attempt to conceal my swollen pocket.

“So, look…” I say awkwardly, “I really need to get going. This has been fascinating, but I think I’m about maxed out on crazy underground technology and lost skyboys for today. I’ve been gone a long time and I don’t even know how far I am from home, so… I need to get back to my brother.”

“Right,” Adam says. He stands up and pushes a button on the side of the tablet. The screen goes blank. “Let’s go then.”

“Um, what?” I say. “You’re not coming with me.”

“Why not?” he says. “You need me to show you how to get out of the dome, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but—” I look around the room before settling my eyes back on his face. “Why would you even want to go to Sixteen?”

“I don’t intend on living down here for the rest of my life. I need to continue my research and now that I have someone who might actually know where to go once we’re up top…” He looks at me as if he’s trying to decide if that’s the case. “It’s win-win, Terra. I get you out of here, you get me to Sixteen. What better way to conduct my research than with a local guide?” He finishes with a lopsided grin.

“I can’t just bring you home with me. How would that look? I don’t need to give people any more reasons to keep an eye on me.”

“What do you mean?” Adam says, his expression suddenly curious.

I mentally curse myself. The last thing I want to tell Adam about is my recent fortune. Questions about the payout might lead to questions about what I was paid out for. And that will lead right to the machine I’m currently trying to smuggle in my pocket. “You would just stand out too much, a skyboy like you, slumming with us. How am I supposed to explain how we even met?” I say in an attempt to divert his attention back to the matter at hand.

“I think the truth makes for a pretty good story,” Adam says with a smirk.

“Ha. Right. Whilst scavenging in the middle of the night, I was chased by raiders over the quarantine line and had no choice but to touch contaminated material while I was trying to escape. Then I found a friendly telekinetic skyworld scientist in a magical underground forest. Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over real well with the guardsmen.”

“I think, technically, I’m the one who found you.”

“Whatever. You probably have some kind of Tribunal-signed permission slip to be here, but if they find out that I’ve been in the ruins this long… It’ll be isolation, observation, and decontamination for me. Who knows when, or if, I’ll come back from that. I mean, I guess there is a chance I could be infected but… I don’t feel plague-ish. Do you?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Adam says, patting himself down.

“But you see my point, right? It will be a lot less suspicious if I go back on my own.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, you’re fully entitled to. Regardless, I need to go.” I shift my weight as I move to leave, trying not to draw attention to the awkward way I’m still holding the backpack against my leg.

“What if I gave you something? In exchange for taking me back with you,” Adam says suddenly.

“Like what?” I say guardedly, already heading toward the door.

“I don’t know. A water filter, maybe.”

I turn back to face him. “You already gave me one of those, remember?”

He lifts one of his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize that was a gift.”

I feel heat in my cheeks. Of course he would want it back. And I’ve already taken something that isn’t mine. I squirm a little, unsure of how to respond, but the smirk on Adam’s face has already been replaced by a kind smile.

“Take it easy. You can keep that one too. I meant I could give you another one. It’s not just you, right? You take care of your younger brother. It’d be much easier if you each had your own filter. Or you could leave one at home—they attach to faucets too—and keep the other one portable.”

I purse my lips. He’s right, of course. It would make a world of difference for Mica and me. I can only imagine how much steel we’ll save if we can cross canteens off our purchase list. Still, I’m not sure I want to bring Adam to Sixteen. What kind of research would necessitate a visit there, when he didn’t even appear to know what or where it was until I told him?

“So what do you say?” Adam asks.

I feel the pressure building on me as he waits for my response. I go back and forth—yes or no, risk or reward—before I get an idea. The plan is already half-formed when I finally open my mouth.

“All right, fine,” I say. “You can come. We’ll figure out a story on the way. But I want the water filter first.”

Adam grins. “You got it.” He picks up a filter ring from the top of the table and tosses it at me. I reach out to grab it with my free hand but it zooms over my head. It rings out as it bounces on the floor behind me.

“Nice catch,” he teases.

“Nice throw,” I retort.

Adam scoops up the rest of his tools from the desk and retreats to the back of the room. Packing, I assume. I snatch up the filter from the floor and unzip the backpack, keeping an eye on Adam’s back. I pull the machine out of my pocket and dump it in the bag as well, then zip the backpack up before he has time to turn around.

“So… is there a, um, facility in here?” I stutter. “I have to… you know…”

Adam whips his head around, his brows creased in confusion. “Huh? Oh. Oh! Yeah, of course. Back through those doors, to the left. Sign with a bald person in a dress on the door, you can’t miss it. Let me just gather the rest of this stuff up, and I’ll meet you there when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” I say, my cheeks blazing. I hoist my irrationally heavy backpack high on my shoulders as I hurry into the hall. I can’t help but feel like my guilt is what’s weighing it down.

I charge down the hall and into the bathroom. It’s long and narrow with several walled-off stalls on one side of the room, and a row of sinks on the other. On the far end is a half-sized window at head height. Not the easiest escape route, but it’ll do.

I hop into one of the stalls. When I emerge, I brace my hands on either side of a sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror above it.

My hair sticks out in all directions, barely contained by my hair elastic anymore. My cheeks are still pink and there’s dirt on the left side of my face, as well as down my neck. There is a rip in the fabric of my t-shirt near my collarbone and faint red scratches run up both of my arms. I run the tap and gently wash my hands—they still feel a little raw—making sure to scrape out the dirt from beneath my fingernails. I splash some cool water on my face, careful to avoid my mouth and eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if this water is already semi-filtered, like the tap water at home—not clean enough to drink, but good enough to wash in. Still, better safe than sorry.

I gently press on the side of my head where I hit it against the platform in the tunnel and wince when I feel the lump there. When I shake out my hair from its ponytail, my dark brown strands stay flattened in that spot. I carefully lift up a lock and realize that the hair there is slicked down with blood. I hadn’t even realized I’d been bleeding.

I pool some water in my hands and gingerly wash the blood out of my hair as best I can. The water runs pink as it swirls down the drain. Fortunately, the cut on my head is shallow and superficial. It doesn’t take long to clean it up.

I try to pull my hair back into a bun, but the bump makes it too painful. Somewhat begrudgingly, I settle for leaving it down in its wild state: wet and flat on one side, tangled and erratic on the other, with a large crimp from my hair elastic running through the middle.

“You look amazing,” I tell my reflection.

I walk over to the window at the far end of the bathroom. It’s about two feet wide and a foot and a half tall—just enough room for me to shimmy through. The window is hinged at the top and shut with a simple latch at the bottom. I twist the lock and the window pops open at an angle.

I unzip my backpack to take a quick inventory. Though the raiders left me the empty canteen, they appear to have taken everything else, including my flashlight. I instinctively groan as I think about how much steel it will take to replace, before remembering that cost isn’t as dire a concern anymore. I secure the machine by tucking it into an interior pocket, then zip the bag closed. I shove it through the open window first, then hike my foot up onto the sink nearest to me and hoist myself up.

Not without difficulty, I squirm through the opening and drop down onto the grass outside. I search around my feet for the backpack, but it’s nowhere to be found.

“Looking for something?”

I spin around to see Adam leaning against the side of the building, one leg propped up behind him. His voice is filled with amusement as he holds the bag out in front of him, dangling it from two of his fingers like bait.

“How did you—”

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Terra. Let’s go.” He tosses the bag to me and I cringe as I catch it. Did he look inside? I doubt he had time to, but the thought still makes me nervous.

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly, though I’m not sure exactly what I’m apologizing for: taking the machine or trying to leave him behind.

“Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t be too inclined to trust me either.”

“Where’s your stuff?” I say, changing the subject.

Adam turns around to show me the thin pack slung across his back.

“All of it fit in there?” I ask skeptically.

“I left a few things behind, but it’s bigger than it looks.” He starts to walk away from the building and, reluctantly, I follow.

We walk back into the trees and I pluck a leaf off a low-hanging branch, twirling it between my fingers like he did earlier. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that all of this is fake,” I say.

“Well, it’s not really,” Adam says. “This is real grass, these are real trees, you drank real water. It just all happens to be down here. The sunlight is the only thing that’s fake.”

“That feels real too, though,” I admit.

“Yeah, it really is something, isn’t it? The panels mimic the normal cycle of day and night. It’s not a perfect match, but the sunsets in particular are quite accurate.” He looks sideways at me for a moment.

I look down to avoid meeting his eye. “Sunsets aren’t really my thing,” I say, stalking ahead of him.

Adam suddenly grabs my arm.

“Hey!” I protest. “You can’t force me to watch a fake sunset with you.”

“I’m sorry, did you want to walk into the wall?” he says.

I reach out into the air in front of me. Less than a foot from my face, I feel the cool resistance of metal beneath my fingers.

“Oh.”

Adam pushes on an invisible plate and, just like before, the scene before me shifts. A shallow doorway appears and I realize that he was right; there’s no way I would have been able to find this on my own, even if I had walked straight into the wall.

“You could have told me it was so close by,” I say.

“After you,” he says, sliding open the door inside. I tilt my head to peer through it and am met with the familiar blackness of the underground tunnels.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a flashlight, would you?” I ask.

Adam grins and pulls a tiny flashlight, no bigger than his index finger, out of his pocket and hands it to me.

“Er, thanks,” I say as he offers the laughably-small light to me. “I guess this is better than nothing.”

“I imagine it will be,” Adam says. “Twist the top to turn it on.”

I venture forward into the darkness, twisting a ridge at the top as instructed. The light that flares out from the flashlight is so bright that I yelp in surprise. The entire tunnel is illuminated. From behind me, I hear poorly muffled laughter.

“Think it’ll do?” Adam says innocently.

The tunnels here are cluttered with less debris than the ones I entered from, so we move through them quickly. Adam guides me with gentle directions; before long, we’re standing at the bottom of another stairwell.

“And you’re sure this goes back up to the surface?” I ask for the third time.

He sighs.

“Okay, okay,” I say as I begin my ascent. The steps feel much steeper going up than they did running down, and I find myself struggling for breath. Adam says nothing about my lack of stamina, nor does he offer to help.

After climbing for a while, the stairwell becomes noticeably brighter. I twist the flashlight off and hand it back to Adam. We emerge into sunlight in front of another locked black gate, though the padlock faces us this time.

Ugh, more climbing.

I take quick breaths through my nose to mask my labored breathing as I shove my foot between the bars and prepare to climb, but Adam shoves his hand onto my shoulder and stops me.

“Let me try something,” he says. He walks over and plants himself squarely in front of the padlock. Though I can’t see exactly what he’s doing, I do see his shoulders tense and the muscles flex in his back. A second later, I hear the grating sound of chains uncoiling.

“Carry a lock pick in your pocket, do you?” I say.

“Um…” Adam looks at me warily before responding. “Not exactly.” He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers.

“Ah.” Of course. He can pick locks with his mind. “Well, no need to be all secretive about it on my account. Feel free to utilize your, er, talents as you see fit.”

“I didn’t want to freak you out again,” he replies.

“Why don’t we just assume from now on that I’m just generally freaked out at all times?”

Adam chuckles quietly as he pushes the gate open and scans the street. “No raiders,” he confirms. He steps onto the pavement and I walk out beside him.

Chapter 10

“Do you have any idea where we are?” I ask.

“You’re the local,” Adam says with a shrug.

“This hardly qualifies as my neighborhood.” I scan the new area. Buildings box us in on three sides, a block out in each direction, but the area where we have emerged is flat and empty. The ground is cracked and dry, sloping in front of us to form a dusty brown hill. The bottom half of a gargantuan stone obelisk is planted ceremonially in the middle of the hill. The top portion has broken off and lays in two pieces on the ground.

“I already miss it down there,” I say with a sigh. Wherever we are, the landscape of the District here differs drastically from the cityscape I ran through earlier. The area surrounding us is barren and still; I doubt there’s another underground entrance for miles.

“Tell me about it,” Adam says. “We covered at least two miles in the tunnel. I haven’t had a chance to collect data around here yet.”

I scan the horizon. The artificial sun in the biodome felt real, but the actual sun beats down much more unforgivingly. I squint into the distance, then glance back towards Adam. His pale skin practically glows in the sunlight. “If you’ve been down here for a week, and have been out in the ruins, collecting data and whatnot,” I begin, “why hasn’t your skin started to darken? I didn’t see a giant tube of sunscreen amongst your things.”

Adam creases his brow. “I… don’t need sunscreen,” he says finally.

“What?” I say, not bothering to hide my shock. “So in addition to portable water filters, you have some kind of portable UV filter too?”

“Not exactly,” he says slowly. “It’s more like… a procedure. My skin doesn’t absorb the sun the same way yours does.”

“Oh, of course. Heaven forbid anything happens that might sully your perfect paleness,” I say bitterly. Apparently, slathering on tube after tube of expensive sunscreen lotion isn’t enough anymore. Skydwellers have become so vain, they’re actually getting procedures done to preserve their vanity. Or they’re just getting lazier. Or both.

Adam becomes quiet, sensing my sudden upsurge of anger at the continued imbalance of our worlds. After a minute, he clears his throat. “So… do you recognize anything?”

I blink a few times, refocusing my mind on the task at hand. “That building kind of looks familiar,” I notice, pointing to a tall structure in the distance that has exposed girders where the roof should be. “But I’d need to see further out to tell where to go.” As much as I hate the idea of heading back toward the raiders, it’s our best bet for getting out of the ruins.

“Let’s get you a better vantage point then,” Adam says.

The barren ground shifts back into crumbling city streets as we make our way to the familiar building. We stop at the bare brass frame of what was once a double-door entrance; shards of glass dust the ground.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask.

“Not especially,” he answers. He steps through the doorway and offers his hand to pull me through. I shove past him without taking it. He rolls his eyes.

The room we enter is dark. The late-afternoon light that streams in from the doorway behind us only reaches so far. Adam pulls his flashlight out of his pocket and places it in my free hand, twisting the top for me as I hold the base. Light flares out from the tiny flashlight, and I see we are standing in an ornate lobby. It reminds me of the casino on the skycity, Lexicon—or of the photos I’ve seen, at least. The lobby’s walls are webbed with cracks, but the marble that lines them is smooth and polished. The ceiling seems miles above us, and old sofas that have been leeched of their color are set in fours across from each other. The sofas form little square booths that sparsely dot the room. Their legs have sunken into cracks in the patterned tile, as if the floor is trying to swallow them. An elaborate chandelier lies in pieces in the middle of the room; delicate crystals and heavy golden candelabras are strewn across the floor, twinkling under the flashlight’s beam as it passes over them.

I step forward into the room, awed by its grandeur. As I walk, a thick cloud of dust rises around my ankles. I point the flashlight at the floor, and swirls of dust dance along the cracked tile beneath my feet, the motes twirling around each other in the shadows. I am suddenly aware of how alone we are.

“This is crazy,” I say, running the flashlight back and forth across the giant room.

“What is?” Adam asks.

“Being here. Seeing this. We’re probably the first people to set foot in here in hundreds of years. It’s a little…” I trail off, searching for the right word in the stillness, while the dust cloud settles at my feet.

“Creepy,” I say finally.

“Sad,” Adam says at the same time.

“Looks like we can get up this way,” he says, pushing my hand so that the flashlight shines on a doorway off to the side where I find myself staring up at a rickety, winding stairway. The stairs are too steep to see how far up they go.

“More stairs?” I groan.

“You can handle it.”

“This doesn’t seem like such a solid idea. What if the floor collapses?”

“I’ve caught you every other time, haven’t I?” Adam places his palm against the small of my back and ushers me forward. His fingers brush against the bottom of the backpack, my contraband still inside. I walk faster so he’s forced to pull his hand back.

We climb. My thighs begin to burn under the strain of the day, and I lose count of the number of small landings we pass, each one indicating a new level, another floor. The stairs become increasingly unstable as we ascend and, eventually, we can’t go any further. We return to the previous landing and exit the stairwell into a long hallway lined with doors on either side.

“Pick a side,” Adam suggests.

I walk up to the first door on the left. The handle turns, but the door doesn’t open. I turn back to Adam, who winces as I accidentally flash the light into his eyes.

“It’s locked.”

“Honestly,” he says, rolling his eyes. He steps back and lunges at the door shoulder-first. It gives immediately; the latch falls to the floor as the door flies open.

“Why didn’t you use your, um…” I can’t bring myself to say the word again, so I flick my wrist in a poor imitation of the motion I now associate with Adam’s telekinesis.

A wrinkle appears in his forehead. “It doesn’t always come that easily,” he says after a moment. “Little stuff is simple, but…” He trails off.

I think back to how he looked after preventing the branch from hitting me—his breathing heavy, hands at his ribs. I am suddenly curious as to how exactly he got that giant bruise.

Adam clears his throat, and I turn my attention to the now-open room. Inside there are two neatly made beds, a chair, and several pieces of dark wooden furniture. There is a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, mirrored by a hole in the ceiling that looks into the room above. Lengths of threadbare fabric hang above the open windows.

“Yep. Creepy,” I confirm.

“You go ahead and get your bearings. There’s something I want to try.” He sounds excited as he turns back into the open doorway.

“Where are you going? We only have one flashlight,” I say. “Just wait a sec, I won’t be long. You won’t be able to feel your way back down in the dark.”

“I’ll manage. I’ll meet you back out front.” Adam looks at the opening in the floor before adding, “And try not to fall.”

“What are you—” I start, but he’s out of sight before I can finish my sentence. “Um, okay, bye then.”

I walk over to the edge of the room, treading lightly over the unsound floor, and peer out the window. I’m just above the skyline, and over the surrounding buildings I see the Dead Woods in the distance. From up here, it doesn’t look that far away, but I know better. I lean out the window to get a better look, and a gust of wind blows what remains of the curtains into my face, making me yelp in surprise. I grab the windowsill to steady myself.

Glad that Adam wasn’t there to witness that, I quickly scan the sky and reel myself back into the room. I am alarmed at how low the sun is. The sky is already changing and the impending sunset paints the horizon with vibrant shades of orange and pink. I’ve lost so much time. I suspect Adam may have downplayed how long I was unconscious.

If I make it to the next Collection with this second machine, I think as I head back downstairs, I am definitely buying a watch.

My legs aching, I reach the end of the stairwell and make my way back through the lobby. When I step back out onto the street, Adam is nowhere to be found.

“Adam?” I call out in a loud whisper. A minute passes. I pull my hair over one shoulder and twist it nervously between my fingers.

I call Adam’s name again, louder this time, as I move away from the building and toward the nearest cross-street.

Did he ditch me? My eyes flit nervously down the expanse of road. It might be for the best if he did, but then why would he have made such a fuss about coming with me?

“Terra!”

I hear Adam’s voice calling to me faintly. Beyond my name, I can’t make out most of what he’s saying; a mechanical rumbling drowns out his words. I don’t understand the sputtering sound, which is growing louder, until Adam turns a corner and barrels into my line of sight.

He sits astride a motorized bike-style transport vehicle, with one wheel in front and two in the back. How the hell he got its centuries-old motor to run is beyond me. What remains of the paint tells me that the bike was originally black, though the shell that would customarily cover the engine is missing. At least that explains why it’s so loud. Adam is yelling over the buzz of the bike, but I can barely hear him. He races toward me with no signs of slowing down.

“Move!”

I lunge to the side as he rushes past me, nearly mowing me down. My shoulder hits the side of an abandoned vehicle that’s been pushed up onto the sidewalk, and I scrape my elbow as I fall onto the broken pavement. Outraged, I wrap my fingers around a chunk of rubble that has landed next to my arm. I am about to hurl the rubble in Adam’s direction when I hear the second transport round the corner.

Before I even have time to react, the raiders’ transport has begun to slow down, only yards away from me. The truck’s wagon is empty; two of the raiders sit inside the vehicle’s cab. Convinced that they’ve spotted me, I crawl around the vehicle I fell against, my heart pounding as it anticipates another chase. A few moments pass, and I can hear that the truck is still moving. I risk a glance back through the vehicle’s broken windows and realize I’m not the reason the raiders have slowed down.

At the end of the street, trapped between the raiders’ truck and a barricade of abandoned vehicles, is Adam. He faces away from the raiders, who angle their truck to block the street; only a sliver of sidewalk remains open, but I doubt it’s wide enough for the motorbike to fit through. Does he not realize how close they are? With his back to them, he is a sitting duck.

I curse under my breath, turning my head toward the open road behind me. It would be so easy to run. I have the machine. The raiders haven’t seen me, and they’re obviously preoccupied. Now that I know which way to go, I could outrun them. I could go home.

I hear the raiders’ boots crunch on the gravelly road as they exit their truck and step onto the street. They’re maybe thirty feet from Adam, and they’re laughing. I can’t help wondering if the raiders who killed Lee laughed beforehand too.

“Dammit,” I say quietly. Crouching low, I move down the sidewalk towards the still-running truck. The raiders have left the doors open and the engine continues to churn noisily. My palm begins to pulse around the heavy chunk of rubble I’m still clutching.

“Hey, pretty boy,” one of the raiders says. “Didya really think you were gonna get away on that thing?”

Adam continues to face the blockade of broken-down vehicles, his head cocked to the side. The raiders grow visibly irritated by his lack of reaction and they hurry towards him just as I reach the driver’s side door. I peer in cautiously, and take a second to assess the interior of the truck. In the foot bed sits a pair of matching pedals, just inches beneath the sloped underside of the dashboard that houses the steering wheel. I bite my lip as I try to remember which pedal is the accelerator, and which is the brake. I only have one shot.

I take a deep breath and jam the chunk of rubble onto the pedal on the right, wedging it between the pedal and the dashboard’s undercarriage. I yank my arm back as the truck jolts forward, hitting the side of the door with my hand as I withdraw it. I barely notice the pain as I watch the raiders’ black truck careen into the side of a building. Both the raiders and Adam turn just in time to see the transport smash into the wall with an earsplitting crash.

I dust my pants off casually as I stand back up. “Sorry, did you need that?”

Adam gapes at me. One of the raiders growls and immediately breaks into a sprint. I pivot on the spot and take off running; if I can get there fast enough, I can lose him amongst the maze of upstairs rooms in the building I just left.

But the raider is much faster than I anticipated and closes the gap between us before I have a chance to get away. As quickly as I feel his hands grab hold of my upper arms, though, I am released. I whip around to see the raider flying backward. Half a second later, he slams into the side of the truck and slinks to the ground. Adam stands to the side of him, arm outstretched and panting, the other raider collapsed at his feet.

“What were you thinking?” Adam shouts, anger flooding his voice as he stomps over to me.

“Um, you’re welcome?”

“I told you to run.”

“Oh, is that what you were saying? I had a little bit of trouble hearing you as you were trying to run me over.”

“This isn’t a joke, Terra.” Adam places his hand over his forehead, his middle finger on one temple and his thumb on the other, shielding his eyes.

“I just saved you!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have! You’d think after all the trouble I’ve gone through saving your life today, you’d maybe want to stop risking it so often.”

“I… you… I mean… You could’ve been hurt too, you know!”

“I had everything under control.”

“It sure as hell didn’t look like it from where I was.”

“That was the point. You think I couldn’t take them out? I was keeping them distracted so you had time to get away.”

I open and close my mouth, searching for another retort. Despite my best efforts, he’s still the one who ended up saving me. I stare at the ground. “I couldn’t just leave you,” I say finally, anger lingering in my voice as my face flushes.

My embarrassment seems to soften Adam’s rage. Breathing heavily, he retrieves the motorbike, giving the unconscious raiders a wide berth.

“Need a ride?” He beeps a comical-sounding horn as he mounts the vehicle. “We probably don’t want to stick around here too much longer.”

I eye the bike and contemplate asking him how in the world he found a working transport in this dead city, but humiliation stays my tongue.

“Hop on.” He scoots forward and pats the bench behind him with his palm.

I throw one leg over the bike and before I can say another word, Adam floors it. The sudden burst of speed blasts me backward, and I immediately wrap my arms around his waist to hang on. He winces, and I remember his bruise. I awkwardly move my hands to his shoulders instead and he relaxes.

It is not a smooth ride. The ancient transport, paired with the destroyed city streets, makes for dips and bumps that cause the lump on my head to throb. My hair flies up around my head in all directions, whipping me in the face. I press my cheek into the slim pack on Adam’s back to shield my face.

I clench my thighs tightly around the seat as Adam weaves in and out of the streets, using my arms to direct him toward the Dead Woods. Unlike the raiders’ truck, which had been forced to go around the more crowded streets, Adam maneuvers the bike nimbly between obstacles. We clear the District in no time.

The bike deals with the unpaved stretches outside the ruins surprisingly well. With fewer bumps comes a more relaxed ride, so I unhook one of my arms from Adam’s shoulder and use it to hold my hair to one side.

“Go left!” I yell into Adam’s ear as we near the woods. Despite its dexterous steering, there is no way the transport will fit through the trees. He yells something back, but the wind eats his words.

I guide us on a broad arc around the Dead Woods and am surprised when I see the glint of black dystridium in the distance. Having never actually driven a transport, and not having ridden in one since I was a child, I never had a chance to appreciate how fast they are. We’ve made it back to Sixteen before the sun has touched the horizon.

I can’t help the smile that flits across my wind-whipped face as we approach the settlement. I know I’ll have some serious explaining to do, but for now, I’m just happy to be so close to home. Happy, but exhausted.

As we approach the southern wall, I realize that Adam isn’t slowing down.

“Stop just up ahead,” I yell at him. He shakes his head; I’m not sure if he is disagreeing with me or if he can’t hear me. He follows the curve of the wall around the settlement, circling it fully before we finally come to a stop less than a foot from where I’d originally indicated.

“Sorry,” he says, cutting the engine. “I just wanted to get a full view. Why did you want to stop here? There’s a gate on the other side.”

“It’ll be hard enough to come up with an explanation that accounts for you, let alone this thing,” I say, gesturing to the bike.

“You worry too much,” Adam responds. He flicks his hand at something in front of him, and the bike pops back to life.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” I yell, scrambling to get off the bike. I’m not fast enough, and it lurches forward while I’m still half-seated. I grab at Adam for balance, wrapping my arms around his torso. His back tenses, adjusting to the pressure on his bruise, but I don’t move my hands this time.

Serves him right.

We zoom back around to the North Gate, slowing as we enter. I try my best not to meet the gaze of the guardsmen at the door, but I can already see their faces are alight with curiosity. As we ride through town, I notice more than a few disapproving looks from North Quadrant residents on the street. I suspect it has more to do with the noise of the bike than anything else. Up in this part of town, owning transports isn’t so rare. I think of Councilman Loxley’s matching roadsters, one red, one black. Even as dinged up as they are, the lower quadrants couldn’t stop talking about them for weeks.

I pat Adam’s shoulder twice, urging him to speed up. After a few minutes, we putter to a stop right outside my apartment complex.

“Ooh,” I say, rubbing the inside of my thighs lightly as I stand. I guess I was holding on tighter than I thought. I cringe at the thought of how sore I will be tomorrow; today has been the most physically exhausting day of my life.

Adam parks the bike at the side of the building. “So this is home?” he asks as he returns.

“The one and only,” I say. “The good thing about having all the adults in your life either die or abandon you is that everyone feels too bad to kick you out of your apartment.” I run my fingers through my hair, and they get caught in its tangles immediately. As I work on retrieving my digits from my hair, my gaze shifts and a movement catches my eyes. I turn my head, squinting into the shadows the setting sun has cast onto the street, and see the unmistakable glint of a transport window being rolled up. The sight of the black vehicle immediately makes me uneasy. Why is a transport parked on our street?

“C’mon skyboy, let’s go inside,” I say, keeping my voice level but silently eager to get off the street. “I’ll draw you a map or something so you don’t get lost again. And maybe you can distract Mica while I attempt to make myself look like part of the human race.”

I open the door to the apartment building, and with slow steps, Adam and I climb the three sets of stairs to my floor. My thigh muscles pulse painfully with each step, making me wince. We finally reach my front door, and I take a long, deep breath before turning the doorknob.

“Mica?” I say tentatively as I swing the door open. I duck as a couch cushion comes flying towards me, moving out of the way just in time for it to hit Adam squarely in the chest.

I stand back up and find myself eye-to-eye with Mica, his arms crossed over his chest. His mouth is set in a hard line but his eyes are wide and alert. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chapter 11

“What was that for?” I ask Mica as Adam shuts the door behind him.

“Where have you been?” he repeats, his voice cracking as he scolds me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Sorry, Mic. I got a little… caught up in something today,” I say vaguely.

“You didn’t even tell me you were going scavenging today! And when the guardsmen showed up—”

“Guardsmen came to talk to you?” I interrupt. “What did they say?” I shoot a cautious look at Adam. Mica follows my gaze and looks curiously at the boy standing behind me, but doesn’t say anything about him.

“They were asking about you. Where you were, when the last time I saw you was, stuff like that. I told them I didn’t know, that I hadn’t seen you all day and had looked for you, but you were probably out scavenging. I asked them why they were looking for you, and they said they just wanted to check up on the two of us, make sure we were doing all right.”

“How courteous of them,” I say wryly.

“But after they left, I kind of freaked. I thought you might’ve been nabbed by raiders, or gotten hurt, or the Black Traders got ahold of you, and I…” he trails off, his expression full of anxiety, and I feel a pang in my chest.

“Oh.” The sound exits my mouth more like a breath than a word. “I’m really sorry you were worried, Mic.”

“And you were this close to missing the Assembly.”

“What assembly?” I ask.

“You didn’t hear? Full Council,” Mica says.

“What?” Sixteen has its fair share of periodic meetings. There are monthly public forums and quarterly status addresses that deal with citizen-specific and settlement-wide issues respectively. Then there’s the Full Council Assembly. It occurs once a year and is the only one that’s mandatory, since the Tribunal sends down a high-ranking official to run it. We’re not due one for another six months, though.

“What’s the problem?” Adam asks, alarmed.

“Who’s he?” says Mica, finally acknowledging him.

“Um, there’s no problem, Adam,” I say, my mind whirring with new anxieties. Introducing Mica to the telekinetic skyboy who saved my life is not currently my top concern.

Mica cocks his head at me but doesn’t say anything.

“When does the meeting start?” I ask him.

“Sundown. We’ve probably got a little less than an hour. We should leave soon.”

“We can go in a minute, I just need to…” I gesture to my general state and Mica nods a little too enthusiastically.

“Uh, yeah you do. You look like you’ve been dragged through the muck, Terra. What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” I say, already halfway to my bedroom. I strip off Mica’s backpack and kick it under the bed—I’ll have to deal with the machine later—and cast a longing look at my pillow. I snatch a set of clean clothes from my dresser, not even bothering to see what they are.

I turn to Adam as I cross over to the bathroom. “They check all the residences during Full Counsels, and if you’re caught skipping we could be fined, or worse. So you’ll have to come with us. Just try not to catch anyone’s eye, okay? The fewer questions we get right now, the better.” I cast a pointed look at the white undershirt Adam is wearing. “Mic, can you help him? Just find him, y’know, something,” I call out before shutting the door.

Mica responds, but the door muffles his words. Judging from his tone, though, he’s still not happy.

One thing at a time, I tell myself.

I peel off my clothes and thrust a washcloth under the running tap to wipe myself down. After washing just one of my arms, the sink turns brown with dirt.

“Oh, to hell with it,” I mutter. I close off the tap and jump into the shower instead. I squeal as the cold water hits me—there’s no time to allow it to warm—and quickly rinse off. As I adjust to the temperature, my muscles start to relax under the pressure of the stream, and the goose bumps on my skin wake me up.

I grab the thin sliver that remains of my white soap bar and lather the suds into my hair. My locks are still tangled, but the slick foam helps me unsnarl them. I wince as I work around the lump on my head and pull through the knots. As soon as the water runs clear in the bottom of the tub, I shut off the valve. I reach around the shower curtain for a towel, only to find nothing there.

“Mica!” I yell, annoyed. “What did you do with the towels?” I wring my hair out as I wait for a response. Several seconds later, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I say, pulling the shower curtain around me. A few moments pass. “Come in!” I repeat, louder. The door clicks open and I watch a sliver of Adam’s face as he peeks through the crack.

“Um, Mica is changing but there’s a pile of towels out here so…” he says, trailing off awkwardly.

I mutter Mica’s name under my breath, annoyed. “Well, bring me a towel, then,” I say.

“Are… are you sure?” Adam asks.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Just hurry up already!”

Adam slowly swings the rest of the door open to reveal his shirtless chest, a threadbare towel folded in his arms. I rip my eyes from his torso and meet his eyes—just for a second—before we both look away.

“Um, here you go,” he says, holding it at arm’s length with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Heat rises in my cheeks as I tighten the shower curtain around me and yank the towel from his hand.

A beat passes.

“You can go now,” I say.

“Right. Sorry. Right.” He rushes out of the bathroom, but not before he clips his shin on the edge of the toilet.

Good, I think. A half-naked guy standing in my bathroom is the last thing I need to deal with. Attraction, relationships… they’re just distractions, more ties that will eventually be severed. Lee proved that. I’ve been more than fine on my own. I’ve got the guys—Mal, Chrys, and the few other scavs that still like me—when I need a little male camaraderie from someone other than Mica. We all hang around after the occasional scav meeting. They tell their crude jokes, and I laugh, or I smack them, depending on exactly how offensive they are. It works. The idea of wanting more from a guy has been buried in the back of my mind for over a year, and I don’t plan on unearthing it anytime soon.

I pat my face with the towel and try not to dwell on it. Even if I did want to go down that road, it definitely wouldn’t be with Adam. At least Lee was like me. Terrestrial. Adam being a skydweller makes this a whole different matter. It’s not as if relationships between us and, well, them, never happen. It’s just that I’m of the firm belief that they should stay platonic. Even if a couple were able get past the disapproving looks from others, and the canyon of difference in their backgrounds, romance is rarely destined to succeed, anyway.

Just look at how well Dad turned out. There he was, the skyboy who’d sacrificed everything for the terrestrial he loved, only to have her die on him. How ungrateful of her. I guess to some, abandoning your kids is a perfectly understandable reaction, given the circumstances.

Ha. Right.

I towel off quickly and slip on my underwear. I gingerly comb through my hair and twist it back in a low bun before donning the rest of my outfit: a long blue tunic that ties at the waist and pair of dark leggings. It’s a little fancier than I would have picked, had I been paying attention, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to dress up a bit. Full Council Assembly and all.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Adam is respectably clothed, waiting at the kitchen table. He stands as I approach, and looks at me with a mix of appreciation and awkwardness. He wears a pair of slim-cut black pants, and a long-sleeved white button-down on top—nice and innocuous. The clothes fit Adam surprisingly well, especially considering Mica is a good six inches shorter than he is.

“Where did you find those clothes?” I ask Mica, who walks out of his own bedroom wearing a green collared t-shirt and a pair of khaki pants.

He shrugs, averting his gaze.

“Ah,” I say. I didn’t realize he had kept any of Dad’s things. My eyes linger on a missing button at the collar of Adam’s shirt. I shake my head, freeing my mind of the memories, and slip scuffed black flats onto my feet. “All right. Let’s go.”

* * *

The Assembly starts the way they always do. An enormous white screen descends from the ceiling just as Mica, Adam, and I enter the auditorium, ready to broadcast the opening video transmission from the Tribunal.

The Assembly Hall is one of the only buildings in Sixteen used for official Tribunal business, so it is also one of the nicest. Rows of seats on three separate levels face a broad stage, though the screen currently blocks it from view. The Town Council will be seated behind the screen, along with whatever patsy the Tribunal has sent down to address us. After the transmission is over, the screen will recede and the representative—almost always the same old man with thinning hair and a wavering voice who Mica has nicknamed Wompy—will begin his speech.

The lower levels of the hall are already filled, so the three of us climb up to the balcony level and make our way to the back. As we pass by, I recognize Emery sitting squarely in the front row. A little further back, a pretty, petite girl with wavy black hair waves to Mica. Juniper Coal. A redheaded girl I don’t recognize sits on Juniper’s left, and Juniper’s sister, Yttria, is on the other side with a sneer already fixed on her face. Yttria’s eyes widen briefly as she catches sight of us.

Mica shoots me an unapologetic look before hurrying over to Juniper, who shoos her friend over to free a seat for Mica. I think briefly about snatching him back, but I don’t have the energy to deal with the Coals today. I settle for making sure he hears my annoyed sigh as he scurries away.

I pull Adam to a pair of empty seats at the end of the second-to-last row just as the lights begin to flash, signaling the start of the Assembly.

On screen, Prime Whitlock takes front stage. Her auburn hair is styled in a sharp chin-length bob, and she wears a tailored, ice-blue pantsuit. The color reflects her white skin, making her look ghostly. Her pale blue eyes pop from behind sleek, rimless spectacles. Behind her stands Prime Donovan, his greasy black hair slicked back, and Prime Laraby, his checkered bowtie askew. They both look bored. The three Tribunal Primes form a triangle behind the podium.

“Good evening,” Whitlock begins, “I am sure you are all wondering why you have been called here tonight so unexpectedly. It has come to our attention that there have been an unprecedented number of quarantine violations in the vicinity of Genesis X-16.”

A low murmur echoes over the Assembly Hall and my cheeks flare with color. Am I really the reason for the Full Council Assembly?

“The Tribunal understands that there is a degree of curiosity surrounding quarantined areas. As Genesis X-16 is located in closer proximity to a quarantine site than other settlements, we cannot stress enough the importance of upholding and respecting the quarantine line. These boundaries exist for your protection, and to ensure the safety of not only you, but of the entire human race. Contamination is still a very real, though thankfully scarce, threat. Lest we forget the Skyfall.”

Prime Whitlock removes her glasses and folds them neatly before tucking them into her breast pocket, allowing a moment of threatened silence to settle over the audience.

“We recognize that, in most instances, quarantine line violations are relatively harmless. Perhaps one was scavenging and saw something valuable just across the border. The Tribunal understands this temptation. However, the number of recent violations has caused us much concern, and requires an investigation to commence. In order to limit further violations, accidental or not, we are imposing scavenging restrictions on areas surrounding Genesis X-16.”

There is a shout from the bottom level, and a chorus of grumbling grows from it.

“This is a temporary measure, we assure you. However, attempting to violate these restrictions would be most unwise. As a proceeding of the investigation, those who have recently been in violation of the quarantine, regardless of their intentions while doing so, should report themselves to the guardsmen immediately. This is for your own safety, of course, and will not reflect on you negatively. If you witness someone exhibiting strange behavior, or if you know anyone whose whereabouts cannot be accounted for, please notify an official without delay. I reiterate, these are temporary measures that serve to aid our investigation in its initial stages.”

I’ve been gripping the armrest between Adam and me so hard that when Prime Whitlock ends her speech, my knuckles are white. An investigation? Plenty of people have crossed the quarantine line to the District in the past. Kids are always daring each other, and the raiders I met earlier clearly knew their way around. A violation has never elicited a response like this before.

“Representative Tallis will now take the stage to explain the restriction guidelines,” Prime Whitlock announces. “You may direct any remaining questions to him. Thank you.”

The screen goes black and withdraws into the ceiling as a dark-suited Tribunal official takes the stage in front of us. I can’t see him too clearly from this far up, but it is immediately evident that this is no Wompy. Tallis is broad-shouldered and imposing; he dwarfs the small metal podium in front of him.

“Questions,” he says, “will be held until the end.” His low voice booms with authority. The few people who were already making their way to the front of the auditorium to ask their questions, as is customary, all retreat immediately.

“First, I will review the new rules that pertain to the quarantine line…”

Adam’s hand brushes against mine, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still there, and I feel the tension rolling off him. My eyes point forward, watching Tallis intently, but his words rush through my ears unheard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mica, ten rows in front of me and to the right. With a turn of his head, he meets my gaze. His eyes are wide with worry. He’s already told the guardsmen that he didn’t know where I was, and now we all know why they were asking.

I think back through all the people I’ve come into contact with today who might know I crossed the quarantine line. The raiders, of course, but they’re not exactly in a position to go tattling on me. The guardsmen at the North Gate—why did Adam insist on going through the gate? I should have stopped him. I should have insisted. We could’ve ditched the transport outside the wall, and then all those people we passed when we drove through town on that stupid thing wouldn’t be an issue either. But even if they suspect something, they can’t prove it. The only person who really knows what happened today is Adam, and he seems just as tense about this investigation as I do.

Did his research really necessitate him entering the ruins, or was it just a mistake he doesn’t want to own up to? With his interest in the raiders, my family, and Sixteen, his research seems like it’s more about the people down here than anything else. Maybe he didn’t even realize he’d crossed into a quarantined area when he got lost. I can’t imagine that most skydwellers know what the line looks like, or what it’s for; why should they? The plague isn’t a real threat to them, and they’ve worked hard to keep it that way. If they even suspected one of their own of being contaminated… whatever the consequences may be down here, I can only imagine what “decontamination” entails up top. Like it or not, we’re in similar situations.

Without thinking, I grab hold of Adam’s hand and clutch it tightly. He squeezes it reassuringly, but I can feel his unease. I can’t be sure, but I imagine we’re thinking the same thing: What the hell have we gotten into?

Chapter 12

The walk home is tense and silent. Mica doesn’t dare ask in front of Adam what I know he’s dying to ask; and I don’t want to talk to Adam about anything while Mica’s around. But at least the walk itself is easy. Walking the streets at night used to put me on edge; it’s easy to feel vulnerable in the dark. After the pitch black I’ve experienced recently, however, I don’t think I’ll ever consider this dark again.

My stomach rumbles and I speed up as the apartment building comes into view, with the intent to head straight to the kitchen as soon as we arrive home. As we near the building, however, I know my plans will be further delayed. A white uniform is already there to greet us, this time paired with a familiar face. Guardsman Brant is waiting on the steps of the complex, his face illuminated by a street lamp overhead.

“Evening, sir,” Mica calls out politely as we approach.

“Good evening. I have a few questions for you.”

“Um, okay, but I’ve already answered the questions the other guards had. I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”

“Not you,” Brant says gruffly. He turns to me. “You.”

Mica glances at me nervously.

“Sure thing,” I say lightly. “Mica, why don’t you and your friend head inside? I’ll be there in a minute.” I make my voice as natural as I can. Adam keeps his head down as he follows Mica into the building.

“Hello Brant,” I say with a tentative smile. “How’s it going?”

“Terra Rhodon, I have been instructed to determine your whereabouts between the hours of 0400 and 1830 today.” He pulls out a rectangular device from his pocket, no bigger than the palm of his hand. A red light blinks evenly in the corner and I am suddenly very aware of myself. This conversation won’t be a private one.

“You are unaccounted for during that timeframe,” Brant continues, “and were last seen leaving your apartment building early this morning. Can you explain this?”

“Seen by whom?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“Of course it isn’t.” I chuckle under my breath.

“I assure you, Miss Rhodon, this is no laughing matter.” He lowers his voice. “The Tribunal is taking the quarantine violations very seriously. I need to record your official report.”

He deliberately looks down at the device in his hand and I’m just not sure what he—or they—are looking to hear.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, and you will answer them as best you can.” It’s not a request, but he says it gently.

“All right.”

“Did you go outside settlement limits today?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I… needed some fresh air. Cabin fever. From the rain, and all.” It feels strange to parrot back the same weak excuse I gave Ryk earlier, but it’s the one that makes the most sense. “I wanted to clear my head. My brother and I have been having some, er, disagreements lately. I needed some time alone to think.”

There, I think. At least I can say I kind of told the truth now.

“Explain your need to go outside the settlement limits.”

I shrug. “I just kind of started walking, and before I knew it I was at the wall. So I just kept going. It’s not like that’s unusual for me.”

Brant nods and looks down at his device for a moment, like he’s reading from it. When he looks at me again, his eyes are wide and his lips are set in a stern line.

“Did you, purposefully or accidentally, cross the quarantine line at any point today?”

I shake my head.

“I require a verbal response, Miss Rhodon.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I take a breath. “No, I did not cross the quarantine line.” My resolve hardens as the lie comes out. Time to go big or go home. Well, go big or go to a Tribunal holding cell for further interrogation, might be more accurate. Though it doesn’t have quite the same ring.

“I wasn’t gone that long. I just took a walk around the outside of the city. I don’t even think Mica was awake when I got back. It was early, so I went back to bed. When I got up again, he had left. Whoever you had keeping tabs on me must have stopped paying attention,” I say accusingly.

Brant’s eyebrows fly up as I speak. “Your own brother claimed not to know where you were all day. He reported as much to the guardsmen he spoke with earlier.”

“Well, Mica’s in school, so I don’t usually see him until later in the day anyway. And I guess I was out again when he got home.”

“We have no record of that.”

“You’ve already asked every single citizen if they’ve seen me today? Give me a break.”

“Why did you leave for a second time?”

“I didn’t realize it was a crime to leave my own house.” I force some harshness into my voice. At this point, anybody would be starting to get riled up, even if they weren’t blatantly lying.

“Is there anyone else who can attest to your whereabouts?”

“Considering how people have been treating me lately, I try to keep my head down,” I say with a shrug. “Whether or not someone noticed me is not my problem.”

“According to your brother, he looked for you fervently, without success. What were you doing that you were essentially unreachable?”

“Right. Because a thirteen-year-old boy is really going to spend his extracurricular hours searching high and low for his big sister. I can assure you he was not that worried about me.”

“Why would he have said he did, then?”

“Because teenagers are never melodramatic, right? They never stretch the truth, or try to get a rise out of someone. I told you we’ve been fighting. He was probably just trying to get me into trouble. Mission accomplished.”

“He will be able to corroborate this?”

“Well, he obviously won’t be thrilled to admit it. But yes, I’m sure he would.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I regret them. There is no guarantee that Mica will play along. It’s too late now, though. All I can do is hope that Brant really is on my side.

The device in Brant’s hand beeps twice, and he reads the screen quickly.

“All right, Miss Rhodon. There may be some follow-up, but that’s all for now. Thank you for your cooperation.”

He taps a button on the top edge of the device and slips it back into his pocket. Now that the device is off, I look up at Brant expectantly. For a moment, I hope he’ll offer another warning, some advice, anything. But Brant simply nods his head in silence, his eyes soft, before he strides off in the opposite direction.

“What was that about?” Mica asks as soon as I walk into the apartment.

I stroll past him and try to make my way to the kitchen, but he blocks me. I debate trying to shove past him, but the thought alone is exhausting. I flop down into a chair at the kitchen table instead. I need to go to bed.

“Is everything all right?” Adam asks guardedly.

“For now, at any rate,” I say.

“What did he want?” Mica persists.

“What do you think?” I reply. “Apparently the Tribunal is getting a head start on their quarantine investigation.” I look at my brother sheepishly. “And I’m going to need you to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Mica eyes me skeptically.

“If they come by to ask you any more questions… I’m going to need you to tell them that you made up all that stuff about looking for me.”

“But I did look for you.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because I told Guardsman Brant you only said that because you were trying to get me into trouble.”

“And I would do that because…?”

“Because you’re pissed at me.”

“What?” Mica is incensed. “You really think I’d be so petty—”

“Oh, calm down. Of course not. I just needed to tell him something to make him back off. So my story would be a little more plausible.”

“Why does your story need to be more plausible? What the hell you were really doing today?”

“Hey, language,” I scold.

Adam walks over and stands behind me, placing his hands on the back of the chair. His knuckles press gently into my shoulder as I lean back.

“Let me get this straight,” Mica says. “You lied to that guardsman, and now you want me to lie too. That about cover it?”

“Well, if you insist on making it black and white like that,” I say with a grin.

Mica stares at me.

“Fine. Yes. I lied. I am a terrible role model. Go ahead, call Brant back and have me arrested.” I turn to Adam. “Aren’t you glad you’re getting such a classy introduction to life in Sixteen? I’m sure the rest of your research team will just love hearing about this.”

Adam looks at me with concern, but after a moment, he shifts his expression into one of amusement.

“Look, Mic,” I say. “Who knows if they’re actually going to bother coming back to ask you more questions. I’m clearly the one on their watch list. I’m just asking for your help in case they do.”

“Okay,” Mica says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll play along. But only if you tell me what you really were doing today.”

“I…” I trail off, unsure of how to respond. I don’t want to burden Mica with everything that’s happened.

“Come on, Terra. You know you’re going to tell me eventually. You’re not great at keeping secrets.”

“Maybe that’s just what I want you to think. Maybe I’m actually so good at keeping them that I led you to believe I wasn’t,” I jibe.

Mica looks at me expectantly. I shoot Adam a questioning look and he nods.

“All right,” I say, stifling a yawn. “We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“No way,” Mica says. He swings his leg around and falls into a chair on the opposite side of the table, interlacing his fingers on the tabletop. “Spill.”

* * *

Adam and I spend an hour detailing the events of the day to Mica while we scarf down some Rations. I’m so hungry that I don’t even care that all we have left are a couple cans of glug. I shovel spoonful after spoonful of beige curdles into my mouth, only pausing between bites long enough to chuckle at the look of revulsion on Adam’s face.

“What did you say this was again?” Adam says, swirling his spoon in the mess on his plate.

I swallow the portion in my mouth before responding, barely shuddering as I do. “D-T04U. But everyone just calls it glug.”

“I can see why.” He uses the back of his spoon to push the glug into three piles, then sweeps the spoon across the bottom half of his plate in a crescent-motion. I rise out of my seat slightly to see what he’s doing, and almost spit when I see the frowning face he’s drawn in his food.

“What are you, five?” I say, choking down a laugh. “Just eat. If Mica can stomach the stuff, you should be able to suck it up, too.”

Adam glances at Mica, who looks back at him with an expression that I imagine says something like, I feel your pain.

Adam recounts our journey back to Sixteen as I scrape my plate clean. My ravenous hunger, as well as the addition of Adam, causes us to work through the last of our Rations faster than I had predicted. The next Rationing isn’t for another few days; I’ll need to pick up some food from the shops to tide us over until then. At least Mica will be elated about that.

Mica takes in the story with surprising acceptance, though I suspect that’s at least partly because Adam glosses over some of the more outrageous parts. In particular, he leaves out the whole thing where he can move things with his mind. I don’t have a chance to bring it up, however, as Mica is overflowing with questions and won’t let me interrupt.

“You have to take me there,” Mica says after asking his tenth question about the workings of the biodome. “I’ve got to see it!”

“No way,” I say immediately. “We literally just sat through a Full Council Assembly explaining why that’s an absolutely terrible idea. Guardsmen will be crawling all over the place. Sorry, bud. Not worth the decontamination time.”

Mica pouts, but doesn’t press the issue. I’m a little surprised he gives up so easily; he must realize how serious the Tribunal is about the quarantine violation.

“I’ll be right back,” Adam says, excusing himself to use the restroom.

As soon as the bathroom door is shut, I grab Mica’s wrist across the table. “Mica,” I whisper, “there’s something I need to tell you about Adam.”

“Man, he is the coolest! I’ve never met someone from up top who was so, I don’t know, normal. And he’s so smart. I can’t believe you almost didn’t bring him back with you,” Mica gushes.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s awesome, I get it. You need to be careful, Mic. We barely know anything about him.”

“What are you talking about? And why are you whispering?”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t get too attached. There’s a lot he’s hiding from us.”

“Now you’re just being paranoid,” he says.

“Will you shut up and listen to me? Adam has this… ability.”

“Huh?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but he can move things. With his mind. Without touching them.”

“What, like telekinesis?” he scoffs loudly.

“Shh!”

“You must have given yourself a serious concussion, sis.”

“Something that might be easily remedied if you would just let me get some rest,” I grumble. “But I’m being serious.”

“She’s not lying.” Adam’s voice makes me jump.

“I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly, feeling the heat flare in my cheeks as Adam returns to his seat. “I just wanted to—”

“It’s fine,” Adam says curtly, then softens his tone. “If he’s even half as much of a danger magnet as you, I’d have ended up using it in front of him eventually, just to save him.”

My face scrunches into a scowl.

“I would appreciate it, however, if neither of you spread this around while I’m in town,” he continues.

“Can we backtrack for a second?” Mica says. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you’re telekinetic?”

“Afraid so,” replies Adam. “Except we call it ‘FX’.”

“Prove it.”

I spin around in my chair to face Adam. “You don’t have to do that.”

He seems to deliberate for a second, before cracking his lopsided grin. Without warning, a pillow from the couch zooms into the back of Mica’s head.

“Hey!”

I burst out laughing. “You get what you asked for, brother.”

Mica eyes Adam cautiously. “Do that again,” he says.

With a flick of his wrist, Adam sends another pillow careening toward my brother, who catches it deftly this time.

“Amazing.” Mica whoops with elation as Adam begins spinning his dinner plate. It rings softly as it twirls on the kitchen table. He jerks his wrist in rhythm with the spinning dishware and, as the plate pirouettes, bits of stuck-on glug fly off; a fleck lands on my cheek.

“Whoops,” Adam says, breaking his focus. The plate clatters to a stop.

“Thanks for that,” I say, flicking the speck off my face. “Are we done now?” Though I know it should still be jarring to see the exhibition of Adam’s abilities, my exhaustion has overtaken my better judgment. I’ve had enough of the spectacle for today.

“How do you do it?” says Mica. “It’s got to be some kind of, what? Magnetics? Nanorobotics? And why haven’t we heard about it?”

“You really think that people up there would want us knowing about something like this?” I say before Adam has a chance to respond.

“I guess not,” Mica says, his brow furrowed. “But why would you need this kind of ability as a researcher? If you were military or something then sure, maybe…” He trails off as he dives deeper into thought.

Under normal circumstances, I might wonder the same things. As it is, however, all I can do is yawn.

“I think we should probably call it a night. Your sister’s been through a lot today,” Adam says.

I pump my fist victoriously in the air. They both laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Mica says as he walks into his bedroom. A moment of awkward silence passes between Adam and me.

“So, I guess you’ll want to get going,” I say to Adam. “There’s a place at the edge of the East Q you can stay. I’ll, um, give you directions.”

“That’d be great,” he says, eagerly picking up his pack and throwing it over his shoulder. “Hey, um, do you know if there have been any other people who have passed through town recently? People like me?”

“I don’t think there are many people like you,” I say jokingly as I rise from my seat. “But the only new skydwellers I see around here are part of the guardsmen rotation.”

“Oh, okay,” Adam says with forced casualness.

“Are you… are you thinking about the rest of your research team?” I ask.

He shrugs and moves toward the front door. “I was just wondering if they might’ve passed through here at some point. Not a big deal. Now how about those directions?”

As I reach for the doorknob, Mica wanders back out of his bedroom with a pillow and pile of blankets stacked on his arms. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Adam’s going to go check into the hostel,” I explain.

“What? No way,” Mica protests, dropping the pile of bedding on the couch. “It’s so late. Why wouldn’t he just stay here?”

I cross the room to stand next to my brother. “That’s not a good idea,” I say, lowering my voice.

“Why not?” Mica says defiantly.

“We’ve already got too many eyes on us,” I say. “We don’t need to provide any more reasons for someone to sniff around our business, and that includes harboring a skyboy.”

“Don’t you think that kicking him to the curb in the middle of the night is a bit more suspicious than letting him stay? Skydwellers don’t exactly flood the hostel on a regular basis, sis.”

I glance guiltily at Adam, who is shifting his weight from leg to leg and fidgeting with the straps on his pack.

“Don’t worry about me,” Adam says to Mica. “I really should get going. I don’t want to impose any further.”

“You’re not imposing,” Mica protests. He turns to me with pleading eyes. “Come on, Terra.”

“Mica, I…”

“He saved your life.” Mica puts the final, guilt-tripping flourish on his plea, and I’m too exhausted to argue further. Mica’s hero worship aside, I guess there are worse things than Adam staying here. At least I’ll be able to keep an eye on him.

“Fine,” I say to Adam. “You can sleep on the couch.” A brief flash of disappointment crosses Adam’s face as he glances subtly from the couch to the door. But when he looks back at Mica, the hesitation has shifted into a lopsided grin.

“Will do, boss,” Adam says, lowering his pack down and walking over to the couch.

I’m too tired to coherently bid either of them good night. I simply wobble into my bedroom and close the door behind me as I kick off my shoes. I pull my hair out of its bun, still wet where I coiled it in the middle. Without another thought, I flick off the lights and collapse into bed, fully clothed.

Not a minute after my head hits my pillow, there is a gentle knock on my door. With a groan, I prop myself up on one elbow just as Adam pokes his head into the room.

“Goodnight, Terra,” he says.

“Oh. Sure,” I say, flopping back down. “G’night.”

“And thanks,” he adds softly.

“For what?” I murmur, already half asleep.

If he says something else, I don’t hear it. All I hear is the soft click of the door closing behind him before I drift off.

Chapter 13

Clang.

I wake with a jolt. It’s too warm; my sheets are damp with sweat and the clothing I fell asleep in sits in a heap on the floor. Bright light streams in through my window, a far cry from the gray morning light I’m accustomed to waking to. I don’t think I’ve slept this late, well, ever.

I sit up and stretch my arms over my head, savoring the pops of my vertebrae as they settle. I smack my tongue a few times in my dry mouth; I’m thirsty. I guess sleeping for God-knows-how-long will do that to you.

I swing my stiff legs over the side of my bed and bend over, feeling blindly for Mica’s backpack. I yank it up to the bed and pull out my canteen. I greedily drain its last drops of water before unscrewing the filter ring from around its mouth. I pull out the other filter from the backpack and slip both rings onto the middle finger of my left hand. Mica will want to see these.

My thirst temporarily sated, I pull out the machine, anxious to inspect it more closely. But before I can begin my examination, something interrupts me.

Clang.

The familiar sound rings from outside my bedroom door. I suspect it may be the reason I woke up in the first place.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

I jump out of bed—the muscles in my legs ache with every step—and shove the machine haphazardly into one of my dresser drawers, grabbing some clothing that I hope is clean.

“What’s going on?” I say, limping out into the main room as I pull my arm through my tank’s second sleeve hole.

A metal bowl rolls out of the kitchen and clatters to a stop at my feet. Mica, his shirt untucked lazily, chases after it with outstretched arms. He grabs it and quickly stands up.

“Morning sis,” he says brightly.

“What’s with the noise?” I ask, bewildered.

“Sorry, sorry,” Adam calls as he appears from the kitchen. Another one of my father’s shirts hangs open, revealing his chest. “That was my fault.”

“Um, what was your fault?” I turn back to Mica. “And why aren’t you at school?”

“It’s the weekend, Terra.” He rolls his eyes and takes the bowl back into the kitchen.

“Oh. Right.” Suddenly I am very tired again. “What time is it?”

Adam shrugs. “A little past noon, maybe.”

My mouth pops open. “What?”

“Did you get enough sleep?” Adam continues.

I can’t tell if he’s mocking me, so I ignore his question and follow Mica into the kitchen.

The contents of our pantry are strewn about the kitchen; pots and pans litter the floor. Mica is on his hands and knees pulling pieces of flatware from underneath the refrigerator.

“What exactly have you two been doing in here?”

“Um,” Mica says, pulling himself upright. “Nothing?”

I stare at him pointedly.

“I was just trying to find some breakfast. Well, I guess it’s more like lunch now. The kitchen just got… kind of messy in the process,” he confesses.

I open my mouth to protest his blatant understatement, but Mica continues before I have a chance to interject.

“I guess we really did finish off the Rations last night.” He can barely keep the glee from his voice.

“If you already realized that, why did you have to tear the kitchen apart?”

“Well, I don’t know, I thought maybe you had some extra cans hidden away. Like, a secret hoarder stash or something.”

I glare at him.

“Adam wouldn’t let me wake you up to ask, so I was just making sure we really were out.”

“Uh huh.” I look at Adam who simply shrugs in return.

Useless.

“I’m sorry, Mic. I meant to get up earlier and go pick some more food up,” I say.

“No worries,” Mica says lightly. “Adam gave me his last bar thingy this morning, so I’ve been good ‘til now.” He returns to the mess at hand, humming a little. I can’t remember the last time he seemed in such high spirits. I surreptitiously pinch the underside of my forearm, just to make sure I’m not still sleeping.

“Mica got a little overzealous with the search, I think,” Adam says with that lopsided grin on his face. “Sorry we woke you.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “I should’ve been up a while ago. I never sleep this late.”

“Yeah, you never snore that loud either.” Mica is half-buried inside the cabinet he’s restocking. “What does it matter anyway?” he says as he pops back out. “It’s not like you have anywhere to be. You sure aren’t going scavenging right now. Or, you know, ever again.”

I widen my eyes warningly at Mica. I’ve made it this far without mentioning our credit balance to Adam. I can’t have him asking questions that might lead him to the machine sitting in my dresser drawer. “That’s enough, Mic,” I warn.

“What?” Mica pipes up. “Adam’s on my side about the payout. He thinks we should actually be buying things.”

“Ah, so you two have already been chatting away,” I say, trying to mask my nervousness. I wish I’d taken the time to conceal the machine a little better.

“I just think you can afford a weekend off,” Adam says.

“It’ll be a lot longer than that. The other scavs around here don’t exactly like being shown up, especially by me,” I explain. “It’s just easier if I lay low for a while. Actually, considering everything that’s happened, we should all probably follow that rule today. No need to draw more attention to our, er, situation.”

“Lame,” says Mica.

“Totally,” says Adam. They both grin widely at me.

“Great. The two of you are on the same side now? This bodes well for me,” I mutter sarcastically.

“Don’t forget, we do still need something to eat,” Mica says.

“I tried to get him to test out the sustenance generator,” Adam chimes in, “but I don’t think he was convinced.”

I wrinkle my nose as I remember Adam’s description of what the generator produces, and can’t say I blame Mica. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “I’ll pick up a few things to tide us over until the Rationing next week.”

“We’re still going to participate in the Rationing? No way.”

“Yes way. We’ve been over this. Just because we have the steel doesn’t mean we have to spend it.” I don’t want to sour Mica’s good mood with this argument again, but I’m not ready to tell him my plan for our fortune.

Even though that’s what got me into this mess, I think.

“I hate to break it to you, my oh-so-frugal sister, but if you think we’re going to be allowed to participate, you’re nuts.”

“Why’s that? What’s the Rationing?” asks Adam.

“Oh, to live a skyboy’s life,” I say with a sigh.

Mica shoots a silencing look at me. “The Rationing happens after the monthly delivery of foodstuffs from up top comes,” he patiently explains to Adam. “After all the good stuff goes to the shopkeepers, we get to fight between the leftovers. I mean, we still have to pay but it’s like, what’s the word for it…”

“Wholesale,” I finish for him.

“Right. Wholesale. Most people in the North and East Quadrants don’t even bother with the Rationing, it’s such a madhouse. They have enough credits to buy their food direct from the shops.”

“I see,” says Adam. “So the other people from around here, knowing about your payout…”

“Yeah. They’re not going to be okay with us trying to get in on the Rationing,” I say. “Mica’s right.”

“As usual,” Mica mutters.

“All right, little bro, you win. Here, Adam,” I pull the filter rings off my finger and toss them to him, “get one of these on the kitchen faucet. Mica, tuck in your shirt. Looks like the two of us are going grocery shopping.”

“He should come too,” Mica says, hastily shoving the tails of his shirt under his waistband as Adam fiddles with the filter at the sink.

“We just went over this,” I say, annoyed, as I head back into my room to grab my boots. “Why is the concept of laying low so difficult for you to understand?” I shout into the main room.

“When was the last time you went grocery shopping for real, Terra?” Mica shouts back. “How are you even going to know what’s what? I bet Adam does it all the time, he could help us.”

Adam chuckles as I reenter the room, “I’ve been sent out on research assignments so long, I barely remember the taste of anything that doesn’t come in bar form.”

“I think I can handle it, Mic,” I say, rolling my eyes and lacing up my boots. “You’re just afraid I won’t let you get anything good unless he’s there so you can gang up on me.” I attempt to flatten my hair a bit, but the immediate reminder of my day-old head injury helps me decide I look presentable enough.

“I mean, okay, yeah. But you can’t just expect him to sit here and wait patiently. It’ll be way more suspicious if the guards come back to follow up with you and they find a skyboy hanging out, digging through our stuff.”

My head is suddenly filled with an image of Adam pulling open my dresser drawer and finding the machine. He doesn’t necessarily seem like the snooping type, but who knows what kind of samples he intends to collect while he’s here. We may be in the same decontamination boat, but that probably won’t stop him from poking around.

“I should actually try to go out and collect some data,” Adam interjects. “Yesterday caused a bit of a setback.” He smirks at me.

Mica makes a disappointed noise and I sigh a little too loudly.

“Just, uh, try to lay low, remember?” I tell Adam. “I don’t know how easy it’ll be to convince people you’re our long lost cousin, twice removed or whatever. Come on, Mica. Let’s go.”

* * *

Mica’s whining aside, the walk to the North Quadrant shops is surprisingly pleasant. I’m not confronted by a single heckler or mooch, and once we cross out of the West Quadrant, the dirty looks I’ve come to expect are replaced with ones of total indifference. Either they don’t know about our recent fortune up here, or they simply don’t care.

We walk more carefully once we’re in the North Q to avoid the occasional transport that rumbles down the road. It occurs to me that I haven’t even shown Mica the motorbike yet. That should win me a few sibling points.

Once we reach the shopping district, we spend a little time window-shopping; I can’t keep myself from ogling the watches in the front display of a jewelry store. For refurbished skycity hand-me-downs, they look pretty damn good. My eyes linger on a delicate-looking piece with a round face. The band of silver links reminds me instantly of the watch our mother used to wear. I pull myself away to show Mica the resemblance—he was too young to remember her, but he should still appreciate the sentiment—only to find he’s wandered across the street and is talking to a pair of people. One of them I recognize as Hess Underwood, but the other has his back to me.

I sigh and go to retrieve my brother, approaching the conversing trio in a huff. My footsteps falter on the gravelly road as I get a clearer view of the set of the third person’s shoulders, the blond hair peeking out from beneath a brimmed cap.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Adam,” Hess says fondly, her words becoming audible as I approach.

“And you, as well,” he replies. “Thank you for your help. I know it was a lot of questions.”

“No, thank you for taking the time to listen,” she says. “Do feel free to stop by while you’re still in town. Loran’s not in much shape to move around, but his memories have been getting clearer every day. I’m sure soon he’ll be able to tell you much more about his accident. And I know we’d both welcome the company.” She smiles warmly at Mica, nods in my direction, and then leaves.

“Look who I found, sis!” Mica says happily.

“Hi there,” Adam says.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I whisper harshly to Adam.

“What’s the problem?” Adam says defensively. “I’m laying low—look, I wore a hat.” He flicks the brim with his fingers.

“Oh, pardon me, what was I thinking? Of course, you wore a hat. Now you fit right in!”

“Calm down, Terra,” Mica says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“How did you even get here so fast?” I say bitterly. “Or know where to go? And what were you talking to Hess Underwood about?”

“All questions, all the time,” Adam says with a laugh, shaking his head. I scowl.

“Well, he’s here now,” Mica says. “Can we get some food already? I’m starving.”

“You two carry on with your shopping trip, I’m fine on my own,” Adam says.

I glance around—several people passing by are already stopping to gawk at our unusual trio.

“If someone hadn’t felt the need to come running over as soon as he saw you,” I say, glaring at Mica, “then I’d be inclined to agree. Given that we’re already causing a bit of a spectacle out here, you’d better just come with us.”

“But—,” Adam starts to protest, but Mica interrupts him.

“Yeah, come with us!”

Adam furrows his brow for a second. “All right, lead the way then.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I march into a red-doored storefront; a sign above the door says “Grocer” in big, welcoming letters. Adam and Mica follow me robotically as I push open the door and enter the shop.

“Oh!” A pretty young woman, maybe in her early twenties, looks up in surprise from the counter at the back of the store. She stares at us for a few moments of awkward silence. I instinctively look down at my shirt, wondering if the outfit I ended up in is not as appropriate as I’d hoped. I’m dressed in dark pants and, luckily, the only clean tank I have left, my hair loose down my back. Mica is in gray shorts and a polo shirt; the outfit was probably just his way of showing off in front of Adam this morning, but I’m glad for it nonetheless. If we’re going to be in the North Q, it’s a bonus for us to look presentable; especially since yesterday hasn’t left me in the best-looking shape. The cut of my tank does little to hide my still-raw injuries and, as it’s started to heal, the bruise on the side of my head has crept down past my hairline. The side of my forehead is lined with a ring of purple. I self-consciously flatten my hair down over it.

It doesn’t take long for me to realize, however, that the attendant isn’t looking at me at all. I suddenly feel like it wouldn’t matter if I was standing here buck-naked; the only person she seems to see is Adam.

“Er, hello,” I venture. “We’re here to purchase some groceries?”

“What?” the shopkeeper says, darting her eyes over to me. “Oh. Of course. Feel free to take a look around.” She returns her gaze to Adam. “And please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”

“Will do,” Adam says, winking at her. I roll my eyes before glancing around the store. It’s a decent size, with six long aisles running across it.

“Don’t go too crazy,” I tell Mica. I grab a basket from a stack near the door and hand one to him. He takes it without looking at me, his gaze already fixed greedily on the aisles in front of us.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his eyes gleaming as he takes off down an aisle. I’m going to need to double-check his choices before we leave.

“Shall we?” Adam says. He bends his arm at the elbow and offers it to me, a ridiculously formal gesture. The attendant scowls noticeably.

“Um… thanks,” I say awkwardly, looping my wrist through his arm and pulling him quickly over to the shelves. So much for not drawing attention to ourselves. Evidently skyboys are too cocky to turn down any female attention.

We walk down an aisle marked “Consumables.” I scan the shelves for familiar-looking cans, but I don’t recognize anything. There are a few rows of canned goods, but nothing so methodically-labeled as the D-B334 I’m used to seeing. Instead, the cans are color-coordinated and boast labels like “Beef” and “Chicken”—complete with quotation marks. Real meat isn’t available to the public down here, even in the North Q; it’s much more cost effective for the Tribunal to create synthetic versions than to keep livestock. Even the pets that skydwellers dote upon are genetically engineered. I’ve never seen one in person, of course, but every year they show a “Best Pet” competition on TV. I hate to admit it’s one program I kind of enjoy.

Further down the aisle we pass boxes of crackers, packages of noodles, and shiny, foil-wrapped candy bars. I haven’t seen this kind of stuff since I was a little kid. I pick up a box of crackers and check the price tag on the bottom.

“Ten credits for this?” That’d buy a dozen cans of slop at the Rationing. “What a joke.”

“Huh?” Adam says, examining a jar of dark blue jelly.

“It’s just… all of this. People who can afford to live like this every day. It’s crazy.” I don’t really care if my statement offends him; I’m sure he’s used to all of this and more where he’s from. “Being here, being able to do this… it feels like I’ll never be able to go back to how things were.”

“Mica told me about what it’s like, being a scav. Out there, every day, for hours on end, basically picking up trash. Why would you ever want to go back to that? It sounds like you’ve been dealt a much better hand than you had before. Seems to me like you’ve earned a break.”

I bite my lip. The thing is, I don’t feel like I’ve earned anything. Finding the machine, Adam saving me… it’s all just been dumb luck. And I can’t let my luck run out before Mica gets to benefit from it.

“Stop trying to convince yourself that you don’t deserve better, Terra.” He squeezes my shoulder in a way I’m sure he thinks is comforting, then seems to think better of it and quickly retracts his hand, moving further down the aisle.

“I guess,” I say noncommittally, tossing the box of crackers into the basket and surveying the rest of the shelves. “Don’t tell him I said this, but Mica was right. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to be getting here. A little help? I might even let you eat some of it if you give me a hand.”

Adam glances around the aisle. “Uh, sure,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. His expression brightens a second later. “I never pass up an offer for a free meal.”

I follow him down aisle after aisle, trying to pay attention to the items he tosses into my waiting basket, but I can’t get his words out of my head. Before I know it, the basket is full, and I’m not even sure how Adam decided what to pull from the shelves.

We meet back up with Mica in an aisle marked “Libations.”

“Nice try, buddy,” I say as I walk up behind him. He has a huge bottle of crystal clear alcohol in his hands. I check the tag on it: 43 credits.

“I was just looking,” he says defensively as he places it back on the shelf. I glance into his basket—only a dozen small items are inside. Seeing his practiced restraint warms my heart; I guess he does listen to me sometimes.

“Maybe when you’re older,” I joke, tossing my arm around Mica’s shoulders. As we approach the still-gawking attendant at the register, Adam chivalrously takes both baskets from Mica and me.

“Did you find everything okay?” the attendant asks him eagerly.

“Absolutely,” Adam says, flirtatiously drawing out the vowels of the word. I roll my eyes and let out an involuntary snort. The attendant’s bottom lip juts out in a pout as she scans our items.

“90 credits even,” she says in a flat voice as she bags the last item.

I have to suppress a laugh as I hold my palm out for her to scan. We’re leaving with less than two weeks’ worth of food and it cost more than a month of Rations.

Mica immediately digs through a bag and pulls out a candy bar. He rips open the packaging and races out the door after Adam, who’s already carrying the rest of the groceries. I loop the remaining bag over my arm and follow them out of the store.

Chapter 14

“What! Are you kidding me?” Mica exclaims as I point out the motorbike parked against the side of the building.

“Kinda neat, huh?” I say.

“Kinda? Understatement of the century. This is awesome!”

I look at Adam and a smile breaks out across my face. Add this to the list of things I owe him for.

“I’ll go put this stuff inside,” Adam says, adding the bag I’ve been carrying to his load.

“Hang on a sec,” I say. “I’ll come help you.” Any time spent alone in the apartment is time he could use to find the machine.

“You should be here to enjoy this,” he says. He nods his chin at Mica, who is already straddling the bike and fiddling with something on the dashboard. Mica turns a knob and I hear a series of empty clicks.

“More like to act as a witness in case something goes wrong,” I mutter. I hesitantly hand Adam the apartment key and he disappears inside.

“So how does this work?” Mica asks.

“You got me,” I say, shrugging. “Adam’s the one who… you know, come to think of it, I don’t even know what he did.”

“Yeah, so what’s the deal with you two anyway?”

“What do you mean?” I try to keep my response calm, but I know my cheeks are already flaring.

“Come on, Terra.”

“You come on. I’ve known him for, like, a day.”

“Uh huh. So?”

“So nothing. He helped me out, and now we’re helping him out. With his research or whatever. That’s all.”

“Right.”

“He’s a skyboy, Mica. There’s nothing to even talk about.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He grins at me and turns his focus back to the motorbike. I lean against the side of the building and contemplate sitting down, but my thighs scream in protest as soon as I begin to squat.

Damn stairs, I think.

“Man, this thing is like, prehistoric. Except for this.” Mica points to a shiny lever that pokes out just below the ignition. “What is it?”

“How should I know?” I say, annoyed. “It’s probably whatever miraculous adjustment Adam made to get the transport to run.”

Mica flicks the lever up and twists one of the handles at the same time. The bike roars to life.

How does he do that? I’ve always been jealous of Mica’s knack for technology. It took me an entire day just to learn how to use his computer.

He looks at me with wide, pleading eyes. As soon as I nod my permission, he takes off with a jolt, then stalls out just as quickly.

“Whoops.” He restarts the engine and takes off again, accelerating and braking with alarming frequency as he weaves back and forth.

“Be careful!” I shout. He lifts one hand to wave his acknowledgement and stalls out again. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

After a few minutes, he starts to get the hang of it. “Not too long,” I yell, waving to him as I turn to go back inside.

Adam is just walking out of the kitchen as I enter.

“I wasn’t sure where everything went,” he says. “I can move things around if it’s wrong.”

“You already put everything up?”

Adam shrugs—a gesture that feels familiar to me already.

“Well, thanks,” I say. I walk past Adam into the kitchen and open up a cabinet to inspect the goods. I instinctively start to organize the boxes of unfamiliar items. “Mica is having the time of his life on that thing,” I add, straightening a tall green box that has tipped onto its side.

“It’s fun for me, too,” Adam says. “Sorry if my organization skills aren’t the best.” He moves beside me and reaches into the cabinet to straighten another fallen box. His arm brushes against mine as the box settles into an upright position.

“So did you get all your notes down from today?” I say quickly.

“Huh?”

“I figured you’d be scribbling on that tablet of yours. For your research?”

“I, uh, I’ll get to it.” He turns a jar in the cabinet so that its label faces forward—jellied blueberry concentrate, it says.

“You might as well take whatever chance you can get while Mica’s preoccupied. I’m sure he’ll have a million more questions once he gets back up here.”

“I don’t mind,” Adam says. “It’s kind of nice. I have a brother too, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Older though. And he doesn’t have much of an interest in me,” he says.

“Well, careful what you wish for,” I say with a grin, running my finger over the embossed lettering on the blueberry jar, “or you’ll end up with mine attached to your hip.”

“Could be worse,” Adam says. “At least your brother had the courtesy not to punch me in the face when he met me.” I turn to make a face at him, but the small space between us feels suddenly charged. I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear self-consciously and we both pull away from the cabinet.

“Mica shouldn’t get so attached,” I say suddenly. “He’s had enough people duck out on him.”

He shuts the cabinet door. “Mica has, huh?” he says, stepping toward me.

“Yes.” It comes out like a whisper.

There is a sudden and noticeable silence. I barely have time to step away from Adam before Mica bursts through the front door.

“Holy crap,” Mica says, his face flushed with excitement. “That was awesome!”

“Before or after you stalled out?” I tease.

“Psh, as if you could do any better.”

“Now, now, children,” Adam scolds jokingly.

“So,” I say, glancing back at Adam, “who wants to see how good a ten-credit cracker tastes, hmm?”

Mica raises his hand tentatively and I laugh as I reopen a cabinet and pull out a box.

* * *

After we’ve eaten lunch, Adam immediately buries himself in his computer tablet. He perches himself on the couch and pokes around on the screen for hours, Mica glued to his side and watching TV. I’m just grateful he’s too consumed in his work to bother going back out again. Before I know it, the sun starts to sink into evening. When Mica gets hungry again, we repeat our lunchtime production, opting to fill up on samples of our grocery store haul instead of making a real dinner. Every package I open is as delicious as the last. Adam has to forcibly wrench a sleeve of tiny yellow cookies out of my hands.

“Okay, okay,” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender, “I’m done.” Adam eyes me skeptically. “No, really, I’m done!”

“I’m not going to lie, I could get used to living like the other half,” Mica says, patting his stomach. “Well, the other half of our half. I’m sure this is still ‘roughing it’ by skycity standards.” He pokes Adam in the shoulder and laughs.

“If this is roughing it, what does that say about the D-T-whatever you fed me last night?” Adam says.

“It says ‘shut up,’” I say, though I’m smiling as I close up the rest of the open packages and put them back in the pantry. “Anyway, if you thought this was good, just wait until tomorrow morning. I picked up a carton of synthetic eggs. Mic, remember eggs?”

“Not even a little,” he says, “but I’m excited anyway.”

“All right, I’m going to go for a walk,” I announce. After spending the entire day with both Adam and Mica around, I’m eager to have some time alone with my thoughts. Free from… distractions. “Hopefully work off some of this sugar buzz.”

“Actually, I think I’ll join you,” says Adam.

“Oh—uh, that’s okay, you don’t have to,” I say.

“I wasn’t asking for permission. Remember our deal? I show you out of the biodome, you show me around Sixteen.”

I sigh. “Hey Mica, want to come too?” I ask hopefully.

“Pass,” he says. “Homework.”

Sure, now he’s all responsible about his schoolwork, I think.

“Shall we?” Adam says, already waiting at the front door.

The sun is just beginning to set as we step outside, tingeing the sky with soft swirls of pink and orange.

“So, what do you want to see first?” I say, annoyance lingering in my voice.

Adam shrugs. “How about we start with you showing me around this, what did you call it, quadrant?”

“Yeah, the West Quadrant,” I say as I start walking. “That’s where we are now. Two-point-two square miles of dust and gravel. Welcome.”

“So the North Quadrant has the shopping district and the main gate,” Adam says, falling into step with me. “What does this one have?”

“A little of everything and nothing,” I say. “Half the Marketplace is in this quadrant, we share it with the East Q. Other than that, it’s mostly housing developments. There’s Mica’s school, and I guess we have West Square, which is the closest thing Sixteen will ever have to a park.”

“Sounds lovely,” Adam says sardonically.

“Nobody says you have to stay,” I say defensively. It might not be much, but it’s still home.

“Oh, calm down,” Adam says. “What’s that?” He points to a squat square building with black-tinted windows. An obvious attempt to change the subject.

“It’s our mini library.”

“Mini library? As opposed to… a giant library?” He smirks at his bad joke.

“As opposed to the main library server housed over in town hall,” I explain flatly. I refuse to muster the chipper demeanor necessary to be an enthusiastic tour guide for Adam, especially considering he’s ruined my first chance to clear my head. “The mini branches allow us access to information without having to make the trek all the way up there. There’s one in each quadrant, and they have a bunch of computer stations set up inside. They’re almost like little study halls. This way every school-aged kid doesn’t flood town hall every time a paper’s due. We’re lucky, we have a computer at home, but not everyone does.”

I glance at Adam, who is observing the building speculatively. Eventually he pulls his eyes away and we forge onward, but he takes in our surroundings in silence. There are only a few other people out on the streets as we walk across the quadrant; after a few minutes, the quiet that settles over us starts to make me uneasy.

“So what kind of research are you here for, anyway? Is there something in particular I should be trying to show you?” What can I do to make it go faster?

He takes a moment to answer. “It’s mostly observational. You know, seeing how things run down here, how you operate.”

“I didn’t think the Tribunal cared so much,” I say sarcastically.

“Believe me, it’s not my first-choice assignment either. All this waiting around, watching, note-taking… this is more my brother’s area.”

“He’s a researcher, too?”

“Sort of,” he says. “But it’s not really a job thing.”

“Then what kind of thing is it?”

Adam looks sideways at me. “He’s always been the patient one, the one who plans things out. Since we were kids, he was always on my case about needing to be more careful, more thoughtful. Less reckless. What I wouldn’t have given for him to just let me live a little.” Adam tenses up and I suddenly regret venturing down this line of conversation.

“I didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” I say, glancing toward the sinking sun and feeling pressure to change the subject. “My schedule is really messed up today.”

“That’s understandable, considering the day you had yesterday,” he says, relaxing his shoulders.

“I guess. But still. I can’t help but feel like it’s a whole day wasted.”

“That’s a pessimistic way to look at it. At least there was shopping, right? I thought girls were supposed to like shopping,” he says.

“Normal girls, maybe.”

“So that makes you, what, abnormal?” He grins his lopsided grin.

“There are numerous people who would attest to that,” I say.

“I’m sure they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Well, thank you. But considering the fact that we’ve known each other for, um, one day, your expertise is questionable.”

Adam laughs. “It’s been at least a day and a half.”

I crack a smile. “Oh, well, of course, then. You obviously know me better than I know myself.”

“Scoff all you like, but I think I know you better than you’d like to admit.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows, feeling instinctively defensive.

He looks at me speculatively for a moment. “You’re not that hard for me to read. For other people, you probably are. I think they have a hard time seeing through you.”

I frown. “Is this some kind of extra ability your FX-thing gives you? I’m transparent to you?”

“It doesn’t take a special ability to see that you’re a smart girl, Terra. You know how you’re supposed to act. You pretend like you want to be normal, like being ostracized is something that saddens you, because you know that’s how you’re supposed to feel.”

“That is how I feel.”

“No, it isn’t. You like the solitude. That’s why you like being a scav. You like that there’s nobody out there depending on you, except Mica, and we both know that if push came to shove he could take care of himself. You want to prove to yourself that you don’t need anybody.”

“I don’t need anybody,” I say angrily. My emotions churn with every word Adam utters. I’m not some research specimen he can analyze and deduce in the span of a day. Even if he might be right.

“Cause if you don’t need anybody, it won’t hurt if they leave you, right? You were forced to grow up fast, in the wake of so much loss. It’s natural that you’d want to protect yourself from experiencing more of it, that you’d become so overly cautious.”

“So in addition to being a transparent loner, I’m overprotective and overly cautious now too? You don’t know anything about me. You think that dropping into my life for one day makes you some kind of expert? Who are you to judge me?” I walk faster, eager to distance myself from him.

“Oh, come on, Terra,” he calls after me, struggling to match my sudden change of pace.

I don’t slow down. We’ve walked as far as the West Square. I’ve almost made it to the Intheria Memorial statue in the center of the square, when I hear Adam running from behind.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing my arm as he catches up. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes I don’t think about my words before I say them, and things come out wrong. But I wasn’t trying to offend you.”

I spin around to face him, throwing his grip off my arm. “You don’t know me!” I say. I am alarmed at the prickle I feel in the back of my throat, a precursor to tears that I refuse to let him see. “You don’t get to know me. And you definitely don’t get to judge me.”

“I wasn’t, Terra.” He calmly steps toward me. “It’s not my place to judge, and even if it were, I would never judge you for being independent. You’re so defensive. I’m just saying that I admire your ability to take care of yourself. I should probably add it to my notes, to be honest.” He offers me a grin.

“You admire me?” I say skeptically. I want to step away from him, but the Intheria statue’s large stone base blocks my path.

“I think you are strong.” He reaches his hand to my face and, surprisingly softly, brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger as they reveal the bruise underneath my hairline. “And I’m sorry this happened to you.”

I don’t know if he’s talking about my bruise or something much greater than that. A lump rises in the back of my throat. The heel of my boot presses against the statue’s base and, before my mind can tell it not to, my body folds itself into Adam’s arms. He leans into my weight, surprised, but in an instant has wrapped his arms around me. I stand there, pressing my cheek against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heart pulses against my ear.

“Looks like sunsets are growing on you,” he says with a laugh.

I don’t look up at him, or the setting sun. I don’t even move.

“Well, look who it is!” Yttria Coal’s voice echoes out over the square. I push Adam back from me immediately, my face already flushing with anger and embarrassment. I’m angry at myself for callously letting my guard down; I’m embarrassed for getting caught.

“Good evening, Terra,” she says as she approaches, Juniper at her heels. I can’t even remember the last time she addressed me by my actual name. “You look… well.”

“Uh, thanks,” I say awkwardly, taking a sidestep away from Adam.

Yttria smiles uncharacteristically and runs a hand back through her jet-black hair. Her locks flow over her bare shoulders, drawing emphasis to the cut of her green sleeveless top. “We were just on our way to your place. Junie wanted to stop by and see Mica.”

Juniper squirms as she plays with the yellow ribbon belted around her hips. The color lights up the thin gap of honey-brown skin that shows between her shirt and pants.

“Right,” I say. “Well, I guess we can all head back then.”

I deliberately avoid Adam’s gaze as I start walking, not completely sure if I’m resentful or grateful for Yttria’s intrusion.

“I’m Yttria,” I hear her say behind me. “And this is my sister, Juniper. We saw you at the Assembly the other night.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Adam replies.

I quicken my pace. Resentful. Definitely resentful.

Adam waits outside with Yttria and Juniper once we reach the apartment building.

“Mica!” I shout the second I get inside the apartment, my legs burning from racing up the stairs. “Micaaaaa!”

“What?” he says. He’s still buttoning his pants as he emerges from the bathroom. “Yeesh, what is it?”

“You have a visitor. Juniper’s outside… with her sister,” I say. Yttria lets out an over-the-top laugh so loud I can hear it from inside the apartment.

“Seriously?” Mica flies out the door without another word. I follow him out just in time to see him wipe the stupid grin off his face.

“Hey,” he says coolly to Juniper.

“Hi,” she says back.

“Want to see something cool?”

Juniper nods and Mica disappears around the side of the building. He returns a minute later with the transport in tow.

“Whoa,” she says in a low voice. “Is this yours?”

“Yep.” Mica’s chest swells with pride and I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Want to go for a ride?”

“Er, Mica, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. It’s getting dark,” I say.

“You can’t be serious,” Mica says.

“Of course I am,” I reply. “It’s not safe.”

“Terra,” he says pleadingly.

“I say go for it,” Adam interjects.

Mica looks at Adam with optimistic excitement and my eyes narrow into a glare. “Well, fortunately, your opinion doesn’t really matter in this situation,” I tell Adam.

“Come on, Terra, let the kid live a little,” he continues.

“Yeah, don’t be such a downer,” Yttria chimes in. “They’ll be fine. Let them have some fun.”

Mica looks from Adam to me with wide, hopeful eyes. “Fine,” I say irritably. “But just a quick spin.”

Juniper squeals as the bike comes to life. She wraps her arms around Mica’s waist and they speed to the end of the street. My anger starts to dissipate and I laugh when he stalls out. It’s only a second before he kicks the bike back to life and they disappear around a corner. When I turn back to Yttria, she’s batting her eyelashes at Adam.

“Looks like they’re off,” I say quickly. “Thanks for bringing Junie by. Mica will make sure she gets home. You’d better head back, before it gets too dark.”

Yttria’s eyes narrow slightly as I dismiss her. “All right,” she says slowly. I can tell she’s trying to come up with a reason to stay. “Well… see you later. It was wonderful to meet you, Adam.”

“Likewise,” he says pleasantly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I say to Adam once we’re back inside.

“What?”

“You just undermined me in front of my own brother!”

He sighs. “I wasn’t trying to undermine anyone. I was trying to help you out. I mean, you didn’t want Mica to take that girl for a ride because it’s too dark? I’m sorry, but that sounds kind of ridiculous.”

“This is not your family. I think I know what’s best for my brother.”

“Look, I told you how my brother was to me growing up,” he says, his voice gentler. “Babying him like that is only going to strain things between you two, especially if you do it in front of a girl. One he obviously likes.”

“Of course he likes Juniper!” I say shrilly. “But if you think that any of the Coals would ever actively encourage her to reciprocate…” I let out a hollow laugh. “I just don’t want him to get hurt. The Coals aren’t exactly our biggest fans.” I flop down on the couch.

“Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” I say dismissively. I certainly do not feel like airing out our family’s dirty laundry in front of him. “It’s just… her.”

“Who, Yttria? She seemed nice enough.”

“Sure, she was falling all over you. Of course you’d think she’s nice. She only came by in the first place because she wanted to meet you,” I explain, rolling my eyes.

“So,” Adam says as he sits beside me. “I’m a commodity, huh?”

“Don’t go getting a big head,” I say, still annoyed but starting to soften.

Adam grins lopsidedly, but says nothing else. With no distraction, awkwardness quickly settles in. I switch on the TV to fill the silence. Adam pulls out his tablet computer and starts poking around on the screen. He sits lazily beside me on the sofa as he concentrates on his work, and I try to engross myself in the moving figures on the screen. I sit up unusually straight and alert; the sofa suddenly feels very small.

Less than an hour later, Mica returns, goofy and elated.

“What’s up?” he asks from the kitchen. I hear him open the pantry and rustle through the packages of food again.

I don’t answer. I can’t even recall the name of the show I’ve been staring at in Mica’s absence. While the TV droned on, I’d replayed my argument with Adam in my head, over and over, trying to make sense of my emotions. Why does this guy get under my skin? Why do I even care about his opinion of my makeshift parenting skills? Why does he even care enough to offer his opinion in the first place? And why, the entire time Mica was gone, couldn’t I concentrate on anything else? My mind was held hostage by Adam’s proximity to me as we sat side-by-side on the couch. How he was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. And how I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as badly as I wanted him to move just two inches closer.

Chapter 15

The next morning, Adam doesn’t bring up what happened in the square, or our argument, so I follow suit. Since our tour of the West Q had been cut short and I’m not eager to talk about why, I don’t object when he insists on tagging along to school with Mica. He spends two hours conversing with Principal Conifer about lesson plans, teacher assignments, and test scores, while I create a mental countdown clock until the next Collection. Four days. If I can spend the next four days personally—and quickly—guiding him through whatever research points he has to hit, hopefully I can send him on his way without him ever finding out about the second machine.

After school, we make our way to the town center, where Adam wants to sit in on a public forum. I hate attending these things, so we hide in the back, where no one can notice me sulking while Adam scribbles down more notes. I quickly decide there has to be some kind of gene that allows you to become a Tribunal researcher, because there is no way that a normal person could find such mundane things so unremittingly fascinating.

The next day we spend the afternoon walking the docks in the East Quadrant. I don’t understand how Adam can possibly spend so much time inspecting the structure of each building, but he continues to take notes relentlessly. Blatantly disregarding my request to lay low, he converses with almost every person we come across. At first, I think the constant conversations are his attempt to quell the stares we receive, though I’m never sure whether those looks are for me, for Adam, or for our odd pairing.

Regardless of the reason, Adam introduces himself to anyone who gives us the side-eye. From there, the conversation goes anywhere, though more often than not it goes somewhere boring. Sometimes he barely says five words, and gets someone’s entire life story in response. The most interesting thing Adam asks about is Loran Underwood’s raider accident, and even that gets old quickly.

I try chiming in on the conversation when we run across a very cheery Mrs. Kuipers, but as soon as I open my mouth she shoots me a look so devastatingly cold that I immediately shut back up. If only I were so charming, I think, watching Mrs. Kuipers smile sweetly at Adam. At least my bruises have faded, so I look like I belong in decent society again. Though, it’s not like that counts for much these days.

* * *

“So I thought you might want to check out the Marketplace today,” I say. I’ve been racking my brain all through breakfast, trying to figure out what’s left in Sixteen for Adam to see. Collection Day is tomorrow, and the Marketplace is pretty much the last place left of interest. Hopefully, it’ll be packed with people he can prod for data, and he’ll have gathered enough research to move on. I frown as I consider this. I should be elated to be so close to getting rid of him, shouldn’t I?

I glance over at Adam, seated at the kitchen table, and shake my head. “The forecast calls for rain a little later, so we won’t want to be out too long,” I continue, peeking up at the sky through the living room window. “But it should be more than enough time to hit up the Market. Doesn’t sound like it’ll be a big storm, anyway. We should be all right.” I can barely contain the glee in my voice. Rain forecasts usually mean being stuck inside for 24-hours or more. Predictions for short showers are few and far between.

“Oh,” he says. “I was kind of hoping to stop by to see the Underwoods.”

“Why are you so interested in Loran’s accident anyway?” I ask. In addition to whatever Hess told him that day in the North Q, he’s already asked several other people in town about the incident as well. I figured it was only a matter of time before he wanted to go straight to the source, but I still don’t know why. “It was a raider attack. They happen. You practically saw one firsthand with me, remember? I hear he’s healing up just fine. Slow, but fine.”

Adam shrugs. “You go ahead to the Market then,” he says, avoiding my question. “I’ll just meet up with you later.” His evasiveness does nothing to quell my curiosity.

“Nah, it’s okay. There should be time for both,” I say casually, lacing up my boots. What does he want with Loran? He collected samples from Ryk and his cronies back in the ruins, so I don’t know what else Loran can tell him about the raiders that I haven’t. And now that pretty much everyone in town knows Adam has been staying with us, I can’t say I’m crazy about him chatting with other scavs on his own. Something’s bound to come up about my payout and the quarantine restrictions, and I’d prefer to be there to squash the rumors when it does. “Besides, you don’t even know where they live.”

Frustration flashes across Adam’s face. “I’ve gotten a pretty good idea of where things are by now,” he says. “I don’t need a chaperone every time I leave the house. I’ll figure it out.”

I raise an eyebrow at his defensive response. If I wasn’t determined to figure out the reason for his interest in Loran Underwood before, I certainly am now.

“You’re not the only one with business at the Underwoods,” I say, thinking up an excuse on the spot. “Hess has been having some difficulties since she’s taken over Loran’s scav duties. I feel bad that I haven’t even visited since his accident, so I figure this is a good chance for me to offer to help. In any way I can.”

Adam sighs. “All right,” he says resignedly. “Let’s get going then, Miss Humanitarian.”

We hop on the motorbike and I direct Adam south to the Underwoods’ apartment complex. They live at the very edge of the West Quadrant, right on the border of the South Q. People on the street stare longingly at our transport as Adam parks it around the back of the building.

“Look, it’s really important that I speak with Loran today,” Adam says as we enter the building. “So can you keep your business with Hess until I’m done?”

I rap my knuckles on the Underwoods’ first-floor apartment door. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” I say. “Yeesh, I hope your obsession with him helps you nab that Most Spirited Researcher trophy you’re clearly gunning for, or something else that makes all of this worth it.”

I hear the shuffle of footsteps from inside the apartment. Adam says something under his breath. It sounds sort of like, “Me too.”

Hess Underwood opens the door wearing slippers. Her raggedy cloth bathrobe hangs open over her pajamas and she looks at me with a curious expression. “Yes?” she says warily.

“Hi, Mrs. Underwood. I’m Terra Rhodon and—”

“I know who you are. Can I help you?”

“Hello again, Hess,” Adam says, before I have a chance to respond. Her eyes dart to Adam and she immediately breaks into a large smile.

“Oh, Adam! I didn’t realize it was you. Please, come in!”

I have to keep from rolling my eyes as we’re ushered inside. I recognize the apartment as based on Floor Plan #7. All the rooms are connected to a long hallway that runs through the center of the apartment; very different from the open layout of my own home.

“Thanks very much,” Adam says kindly. “I thought I might take you up on your offer to speak to Loran about his accident?”

“Of course, of course,” she says eagerly. “I’ll go wake him, he’s just been resting.”

“That’d be great,” Adam says.

“We don’t want to disturb him,” I say, looking at Hess’s open robe and then pointedly at Adam. “We can come back another time.”

Adam’s expression darkens as I speak, and I feel a chill run through the room.

“Nonsense,” Hess says brightly. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have a visitor. The house is rather quiet these days.” I remember what Emery told me about her son, Trip, and the Black Traders, and I feel a pang of sympathy in my chest. Regardless of whether Trip joined the Traders or was taken by them, it can’t be easy for Hess to have both her husband injured and her son gone.

“Thank you very much, in that case,” I say. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t, um, interrupting anything.” I mistakenly glance at her pajamas again and Hess follows my gaze. Her cheeks suddenly flare pink. “Please, make yourselves at home. I’ll be right back.” She turns on the spot and flies down the hall.

“What was that?” Adam whispers roughly once Hess is out of earshot.

“What was what?”

“‘We don’t want to disturb him?’” he says mockingly. “I just told you that I needed to talk to him. Why would you even say that?”

“It’s called being polite,” I say, suddenly angry. “You should try it sometime.” I walk out of the hall and into what I assume is the living room, taking a seat in a cushiony recliner against the back wall. Adam follows me into the room and sits on a small sofa set diagonally across from me. The fabric of the sofa perfectly matches the chair I’m occupying, painting the entire room a comforting shade of plaid.

“What’s your problem?” I mutter, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the armrest as Adam scowls at me. “You didn’t want me to come with you in the first place, you got mad when I suggested we come back later. You’ve been asking about Loran’s accident all week. What kind of data can you possibly get talking to some random raider victim that you can’t get from me?” The words come out more petulantly than I intended.

“Look, I’m sorry if I was… short with you,” Adam says, his voice heavy. “I just—” He cuts himself off and I look up to find his face full of conflict.

“What is it?”

His face drains of emotion, making his expression difficult to read. “I just have some questions for him, that’s all,” he says. “Important ones.”

“About what?” I press, though before the words have left my mouth, the realization hits me like a Skyline train. Adam was in the biodome for a week before I found him. Loran’s accident happened several days before I found the first machine. The timing is too close to be a coincidence. “Do you… do you think he might know something about the rest of your team?”

Adam’s jaw clenches. His sudden emotionless expression is all the confirmation I need. My mouth drops open in surprise. How did I not realize any of this sooner? But before I have a chance to ask anything further, I hear the slow shuffling of footsteps making their way down the hall.

“There you two are!” Hess exclaims, turning into the living room with her husband’s arm over her shoulders. She has changed into a cheery pink dress, and has brushed her hair back into a neat braid. Loran Underwood wears a baggy sweater and long pants, but under his right knee I can see the bulge of a large bandage. There are some yellow bruises along his arms as well, just short of being fully healed. The injuries must have been deep if they’re still visible after this amount of time.

Adam immediately hops up and helps Loran limp to the couch. He settles into the middle of the sofa with Hess on one side and Adam on the other.

“Thank you, m’boy,” Loran says, already out of breath from his short journey down the hall. “Terra Rhodon?” he says, suddenly noticing me in the corner.

“Hi, Loran. I mean, Mr. Underwood,” I say, smiling timidly.

Loran laughs, a booming guffaw. “Mr. Underwood, eh? You never called me that out in the fields, no need to start now. How’s that little brother of yours? And how’s the scav business treatin’ ya?”

Hess clucks softly and Loran turns to her, confused. A second later, comprehension dawns on his face and he looks suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, I meant… that is to say… of course it’s been going real well, eh?”

“No complaints here,” I say lightly, trying to quell his obvious awkwardness. “And Mica’s doing fine, thank you for asking.”

“So, you’re Adam then?” Loran says.

“Yes, sir,” Adam responds.

“Well, you certainly made an impression on my Hessie here,” he says. “We don’t meet many skydwellers like you. She’s been hoping you’d stop by all week.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Hess says, slapping her husband lightly on the shoulder. I can’t help but chuckle.

“So what can I do for you?” Loran asks.

An air of seriousness falls over the room as Adam glances at me.

I’m not going anywhere, I think, looking back at him expectantly.

“I hope you don’t feel this is too intrusive,” Adam says, turning back to Loran, “but I was wondering if you might be willing to talk to me about your accident.”

“Are you part of the investigation team? ‘Cause they already came and asked me about everything when it happened.”

“No, I’m… on a different assignment. I apologize if you’ll be repeating information.”

“It’s all right,” Loran says slowly. “Things are a little clearer these days than they were back then anyway. Though I’m sure I still sound just as crazy.”

“What do you mean?” Adam asks.

Loran takes a deep breath and looks at Hess. She nods. “I was out in the fields, like normal. It was pretty late in the day—I think I was probably the only scav still out there. But I’d been following a trail of broken tech down through the Southern Plains and I wanted to make sure I’d gotten ‘em all. I must’ve been down past the Dead Woods by the time I decided to pack it in.” He glances at me and I nod knowingly.

“Then suddenly, I’m swept into the air, out of nowhere. Something just blew me straight off my feet. Like—like I got hit with… a cannonball made of air or something. I went flying and hit the ground, hard. Next thing I know, I’m back home with a screwed up knee and a head that’s fuzzier than usual to boot.”

“So it wasn’t raiders?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Raiders? Ha. Almost wish it had been,” Loran says sadly. “The other investigators told me that’s what must’ve happened, that a raider must’ve hit me from behind or something but… I would’ve known if somebody hit me. All I know is what I said. I didn’t feel anything but the air. If a raider’d knocked me off my feet, I woulda seen him—or at least felt him—touch me, right?”

Alarmed, I can’t stop myself from whipping my head over to look at Adam, whose face is contorted in deep concentration. Loran catches sight of my expression and starts to laugh.

“Believe me, I know how it sounds,” he continues. “Everyone else says I gotta be crazy, that the accident just messed up my memory. And maybe they’re right. All that matters now is that I’m home, and I’m healing.” He pats his wife’s hand slowly.

“Nobody here thinks you’re crazy,” I say, still looking at Adam. My comment brings him back to the present, and he shoots me a wary glance.

“I know you probably don’t like reliving this,” Adam says to Loran, “but is there anything else—anything at all—that you remember? Sounds, smells, something in your peripheral vision? Even the smallest detail could help.”

“Well, there is one thing, but if you didn’t already think I was nuts…” Loran trails off, chuckling nervously.

“I promise you, we won’t,” Adam says, looking at him hopefully.

“It happened so fast, of course, so I can’t be sure. But when… when I was knocked into the air, when I was sent flying? I could’ve sworn I saw something overhead.”

“Like what?” I ask. “A trash barge? A Skyline shuttle?”

“Maybe,” Loran says. “Maybe there was a shuttle of some kind of up there. But if I’m being honest… it looked more like a person. Arms splayed out, spinning in the sky, it almost looked like… someone was flying.”

Adam’s face falls in unmistakable disappointment, and silence takes over the room. Finally, Adam coughs and rearranges his expression. “Terra, didn’t you have something to talk to Hess about?”

“Huh?” I say. Adam raises both his eyebrows at me. “Oh, right. Of course.”

“What is it?” Hess asks quietly.

“I, uh… I wanted to see if you needed any… any help.” My words come out in a nervous jumble; I’m still processing the details of Loran’s accident. “I know things have been kind of, um, rough… since the accident. And, you know, with the situation with Trip and the Traders…” Hess’s eyes widen in shock and she inhales sharply; I know I’ve crossed a line. “I—I’m sorry,” I say preemptively.

“We’re doing all right,” Loran says quickly, rubbing Hess’s back in slow circles. “But we appreciate the offer.”

I nod hurriedly as I stand. “Well, if you ever need anything,” I say, struggling to regain my composure.

“I guess we should get going,” Adam says. “Thank you again.”

Hess looks at me with an impassive expression as we leave.

“So do I get an explanation of what that was all about now?” I ask Adam as soon as we’re back outside.

“There’s nothing to explain,” he says dismissively as he climbs onto the motorbike. “I thought maybe he saw something, something that could help me. But you heard him. There was nothing to tell.”

“Nothing to tell?” I say. “The man said he felt like someone knocked him off his feet without touching him, Adam. That sure sounds like something to me.”

“But it’s nothing that helps me, Terra!” Adam’s voice rises angrily. “It’s a dead end. Nothing he said tells me where my team is, or if they even came here. Nothing. I thought, I hoped… Look, can we just drop it for now?”

He looks so crestfallen, so disappointed, all I can do is nod and take my place on the bike behind him.

“Still up for the Market?” I ask quietly. He doesn’t respond. He simply brings the bike to life and takes off towards the Marketplace.

Chapter 16

The Marketplace is a long, rectangular building with wide doors on both ends and individual stalls built into the sides. Mica likes to show off his nerdy side by reminding me frequently that buildings like this were originally meant to keep livestock—back when there was livestock to be kept. Now, merchants of all specialties sell their wares for more reasonable prices than you’ll find in the North Q. That said, you can’t always be sure what you’re going to get.

Adam weaves through the people crammed into various stalls, while I avoid the stares of surrounding shoppers. They’re understandably wary; much of Marketplace culture is based on haggling, and someone with the kind of steel I have could easily skew the dynamic.

Mr. Copper’s stall is at the very end, near the back of the building. His long, gray hair always spilling out from his bowler hat, Copp is more than just my favorite stallkeeper. He’s an old friend of our family. As kids, he would often regale Mica and me with stories of my mother. I haven’t been brave enough to come back to the Marketplace since That Day, when I found the machine and Copp got his first glimpse of my new credit balance. I’m not sure how welcome I’ll be now, even here.

“Hello Terra,” Copp says stiffly as we approach.

“Heya Copp.”

An awkward silence fills the space between us.

“Been a while,” he says after a minute. “Wasn’t sure we’d be seein’ ya here again.”

“Guess old habits are hard to break.” I offer him a timid smile.

“Ha!” he booms. “Shoulda known all that steel wouldn’t change ya.”

I let out a sigh of relief. “This is Adam,” I say, pulling him forward by his arm.

“Hello,” Adam says, smiling. Back in public, all traces of his disappointment from our conversation with Loran have disappeared.

Copp stares at Adam just a little too long. I clear my throat several times.

“Ah… well, welcome!” Copp says after he’s composed himself. “Any friend of Terra’s and all that. If ya got questions, just let ‘em rip.”

Adam nods and starts to inspect Copp’s wares. He holds up a lightweight windbreaker, gray instead of black, but otherwise similar to the jacket I lost in the District, and dives into a conversation with Copp about it. My eyes immediately glaze over.

Here we go again, I think. How interesting can a jacket be?

I entertain myself by perusing Copp’s collection of tarnished silver pendants, until three sharp blasts ring out from unseen speakers. Rain.

I step outside Copp’s stall, where the doors at the end of the building are open to the outside. Clouds are already rolling in: massive and threatening swirls of dark purples and blackish blues. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before the downpour begins.

“C’mon,” I tell Adam. “We’ve gotta go.”

“Why?” he asks, his eyes now glued to another jacket—navy blue this time—pinned to the wall behind Copp’s head.

“Rain, dummy.” I roll my eyes and tug on his arm. “We’ll pick up Mica on the way. They should be releasing him from school now.”

“Right, of course. The rain.” Adam looks wistfully at the jacket.

“Oh, for the love of—,” I say exasperatedly. “Copp, we’ll take this.”

“No, you don’t have to—”

I silence Adam with a look, then turn back to Copp. “Actually, throw in that blue one too,” I say, pointing to the navy jacket. “Buying double means a discount, right?”

“Glad to see ya haven’t changed,” Copp says with a laugh.

“Terra, I can’t just let you—”

“I need one, too. You can pay me back later.”

I ignore my credit balance when it comes up on the register.

“Thank you,” Adam says, looking at me a little too intensely. He says a brief goodbye to Copp, who tips his hat at Adam—something I’ve never seen him do. Adam really brings out the most unusual reactions in people. Copp stuffs the jackets in a bag, then hands it to Adam, who steps outside.

“Always a pleasure,” Copp says to me as I turn to leave. “And I gotta say, it’s kinda nice.”

“What is?”

“Seeing ya with someone.”

“No, we’re not—”

“Never figured ya for a skychaser,” he continues with a wink, “but this one seems all right.”

Before I can clarify the situation, Copp’s already turned to help the next customer in line, eager to finish her shopping before the rain starts.

“Okay, let’s go,” I say to Adam once I’ve joined him outside. I avoid his eye as I take the bag with the jackets from him and climb onto the bike.

“Mica?” he asks quietly.

“Mica,” I say with a nod, and we rumble off toward the school.

* * *

“What do you mean he’s not here?” I say, annoyed. The redheaded girl I saw with Juniper at the Assembly stands in front of me outside the school. Her name, I learn, is Brim Lyle.

“Don’t know what to tell you, Miss Terra,” she says coyly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “He’s not.”

“Well, do you know where he went?”

“Yep.”

I sigh. “And…? Where did he go?”

“I saw him take off with Junie.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s walked her home every day this week. Guess he wanted to make sure she got home nice and dry.” Brim bursts into a fit of giggles as her mother arrives to collect her.

“Great.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and turn back to Adam. “What a time for him to become a gentleman. I blame you for this, you know.”

“Should we go get him?” Adam asks.

I bite my lip and glance up at the sky; the clouds are almost directly overhead. They’re moving much faster than they normally do.

“There isn’t time,” I say finally. “Let’s just go home. Maybe he’s already back. And if not…” I let the rest of the sentence fall away. I know Mica will be fine, that’s hardly the issue. I just hope that the Coals tolerate his company much better than they do mine.

Even with the speed of the motorbike, our detour at the school has taken longer than I thought. We’re still speeding through the deserted streets of the West Q when the first drops start to fall. The rain starts slowly, as it always does; beads of water descend sporadically, as if patches of the cloud layer have sprung very mild leaks. They’re spaced out far enough for us to avoid, and we still have a few minutes before it evolves into a full-blown downpour.

I sigh with relief as we turn the corner and my apartment building comes into view, then gasp as a fat droplet grazes my shoulder. I feel Adam tense up—he must have gotten hit, too. He drives straight under the awning that hangs above the building’s front doors, and we dash inside.

“Are you all right?” I ask once we’re safely inside, checking my shoulder for damage. There’s a small pink dash on my skin, but I’ve definitely had worse.

Adam breathes through his teeth as he inspects his arm. It only takes me a second to see exactly where he got hit, and to realize that he got it much worse than I did. A circle on top of his forearm—an inch from his elbow—has risen into a grotesque bubble. After a second, it settles back down into a raw, red welt. Adam grips his arm from underneath, still breathing harshly, and marches upstairs without saying a word.

“How do you live like this?” he finally says once we’ve reached my apartment.

“What?” I say, distracted as I wrestle with the lock on the front door. “You mean the rain?”

“Yes. It’s just so…”

“Inconvenient?” I offer.

“I think it goes a little beyond that,” he says darkly, following me inside.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s a pain, sure. But this is life. Our UV filter is long gone. We never had the resources to maintain it, let alone build a new one. But we have the forecasts down almost to the hour at this point. Plus there are the warning horns. Nobody’s gotten seriously hurt in ages.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, looking down at his arm.

“There’s usually more time,” I say guiltily. “If I’d known the rain was going to start so soon after the horns, I wouldn’t have said we should go by the school.”

Adam frowns. “Timing would be the least of my concerns if I had to deal with this on a regular basis,” he says coldly.

I shrug noncommittally, fighting the resentment rising in my chest. It’s not that I’ve forgotten Adam is a skydweller—the proof literally stares me in the face every time I look him in the eye. But I’ve gotten so used to his presence that it’s slipped to the back of my mind.

“How unfortunate it is that we can’t all be born into a life of skyborn luxury,” I say bitterly. I toss the bag with the jackets onto the kitchen table with too much force. It slides right over the opposite edge and lands on the floor.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says gently, walking around the table to retrieve the bag. He places it squarely on the center of the table.

“I know. Sorry, old habit.” I walk into the bathroom and pull a box of bandages and a tube of antiseptic from a cabinet. “Here, let me see your arm.”

We pull chairs from the kitchen table and sit facing each other as I clean his wound. “You have to understand that I’m still getting used to all of this,” I say, wrapping a bandage gently around his forearm. I accidentally brush over his wound and he flinches. The dark blonde hairs on his arm stand up.

“All of what?” he asks, his face barely acknowledging the pain.

“You. You’re… you’re this total anomaly. The officials, the guardsmen, even our own teachers… people from up top barely associate with us. They serve their time down here in the hopes of netting something better for themselves when they get back—a promotion, a raise, whatever.” I secure the bandage with a knot, and my fingers linger a little too long. “You could treat us like the rest of them do—like we’re nothing more than your innkeepers, people who provide a place for you to bunk. But you, I don’t know, actually seem to like spending time with the people here. You’re… interesting. And you’re interested. In Sixteen. In us. You don’t immediately try to sanitize your palms after shaking someone’s hand down here.”

I look at Adam earnestly for a moment, his blue eyes warm and inviting, a smile lurking behind the serious set of his lips. “I mean, it’s nice,” I add. “But it’s just strange. There’s a reason why we don’t spend time with you all, why we don’t get to know you. My own father’s a perfect example. He was from up top, born and raised in Korbyllis. Did you know that? And as he loved to remind me, he threw it all away—his life up there—to be with my mother. Then she died, and he hated it down here so much that he left. He didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to his own kids.” My face feels hot as I speak. “There’s no benefit for you. No reason you should want to be here.”

My lips close clumsily over the last words, and I’m struck with the urge to crawl to my room and smother my embarrassment under my pillow. I start to turn away, but Adam catches my wrist. He pulls me toward him and in an instant we are face-to-face.

“You want to hide,” he says, a sudden intensity in his voice. “I know. Because you feel like you’re not allowed to think the things you think. Or feel the things you feel.”

“Welcome to the human condition,” I say wryly.

He releases my wrist and brushes aside a few dark strands of hair that have fallen into my eyes. His hand lingers on my cheek and I can’t stop myself from leaning into it.

“Don’t,” I say faintly.

“Why not?”

“Look, it’s been a long day, and you’re upset, and we’re… we’re not the same.” The moment the words fall from my lips, I regret them.

He laughs, a breathy sound. “So what? Since when is being the same so great anyway?”

He leans forward and his lips are on mine. He kisses me softly at first, pressing his lips to me lightly. He pulls away and appraises me tentatively, his eyebrows raised. Before my brain can stop me, I push my lips back to his, and we ignite.

Adam’s hand glides from my cheek to the back of my neck, pulling me into him. I wrap one arm around his shoulders and meet his urgency. His fingers brush through my hair, tangling in my locks, and he tugs down gently, pulling my head back. He trails his lips down my chin and presses them to my neck, making me shiver. I pull Adam’s face back to mine and kiss him feverishly. My emotions pulse and mingle and flare: desire and longing and gratitude all mixed in one. This is wrong. This should feel wrong. But it doesn’t. It feels like this is what was meant to happen all along. The two of us, both left behind in our own ways, finding each other.

We stand. His hand presses into the small of my back, pulling me closer. My breath becomes ragged. His fingers edge up beneath the hem of my shirt, and my skin feels hot under his touch. Electric. He moves his other hand to cradle my cheek, and his lips flutter over mine. I push myself into him—one hand on his chest, the other still wrapped around his shoulders—and feel his muscles rolling under my iron grip. Our bodies align as we walk into the back of the couch, our lips still pressed to one another.

Adam is the first to break away.

“Listen,” he says, pointing to the window. He spins me deftly around so my back is to him, and wraps his arms around me, holding me still. The air around us is silent save for my rapid breathing.

“Rain’s stopped,” I say. “Guess that really was a short shower.” I don’t add that it’s the first time I’ve ever wished it would rain longer.

“How long until you think Mica will be home?” he asks, resting his chin in my hair. I feel his breath on my neck as the words vibrate into me. He brushes the hair off my shoulder and plants soft kisses along my neck.

I shiver. “I don’t know. Not that long, probably.”

“Well then,” he says, grinning wickedly. “I guess we should take advantage of the time we have.” He turns me back around and starts to lean into me, but I put my hand on his chest to stop him. His reminder of Mica floods me with clarity. And regret.

What am I doing?

Whatever spell I was under breaks. I push Adam back, my cheeks flaring with equal parts anger and humiliation.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

He laughs softly. “I thought we went over this already.”

“I’m serious, Adam. This is wrong. This was a mistake.”

His face falls, his lips forming a line. “Why do you keep saying that? What’s so wrong about it?”

“I—it just is. I’ve already told you, you and me, them and us, we don’t work. Sooner or later, you’re going to take off, and I don’t want to be the trampy terrestrial you end up telling all your skybuddies about once you’re gone, okay?”

“Nice to know you have such a high opinion of me,” he says angrily.

“You know what I mean. It’s just better for everyone if we don’t go there.”

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, Terra, but we’re already there.”

I stare at him in silence, afraid that my willpower will fade if I speak again.

“All right, if that’s how you want it,” he says. He walks to the front door and yanks it open.

“You can’t go outside yet,” I say. “The ground is still too wet, it’s not safe.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, slamming the door behind him as he storms out.

Chapter 17

“I know, I know,” Mica says sheepishly as he walks through the door. I finish putting the last clean dish away—my last in a series of mindless housekeeping tasks I’ve gone through in an attempt to keep myself out of my head.

“How much trouble am I in?” Mica asks, rounding the corner and peering at me from the edge of the kitchen alcove.

“Oh…” I say, flattening the back of my hair nervously. Even though I’ve already brushed it twice, I can’t help feeling like evidence of my mistake with Adam is still visible in its tangles. “You’re not in trouble. I’m just glad you got back all right. How was school?”

I nearly cringe at my own words. They sound too formal, too forced.

Mica eyes me curiously. “Um, okay… I was just with Juniper. At the Coals’?”

“I know,” I say. “We stopped by the school and your friend Brim told me. Next time leave a message with a teacher or something,” I add. “Were the Coals okay with you being there?”

“I guess. I mean, her sister wasn’t half as nice to me as when she was here the other day, but it’s not like she threw me out.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you okay with me being there?”

I shrug. “You turn fourteen in a couple days, Mic. So I assume by now you’re perfectly capable of keeping yourself thoroughly un-disintegrated during a rainfall.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mica says.

“I know. It’s fine, really. I mean, I’m obviously not a fan of the Coals, but it’s whatever. I’m… happy for you.”

“So where’s Adam?” Mica asks happily. Thankfully, he turns around to sit down at the table before he can see my cheeks turn bright pink in response.

“Oh…” I start awkwardly. It’s been over an hour since he left, and I have no idea when—or if—he’s coming back. “He’s, uh—”

Right on cue, I hear a knock at the front door. Mica slides his chair back and lumbers over to open the door; the icy chill that immediately takes over the apartment confirms that Adam has returned. I flatten myself against the back wall of the kitchen, listening intently.

“Perfect timing,” Mica says. “I was just asking where you ran off to. Ouch, guess the rain got you?”

“Yep, it nailed me pretty good,” Adam says.

“Sucks,” Mica says. “What’ve you been up to?”

I hold my breath.

“I finally made it to the Marketplace today,” Adam says brightly. I exhale, thankful that whatever front he puts on for the public also apparently applies to little brothers.

“Fascinating stuff,” he continues. “Haggling, bartering… it’s all unheard of where I’m from. A totally different kind of shopping experience.”

Mica walks into the kitchen and notices me cowering against the wall. I try to pretend like I’m straightening a picture hanging beside me, but I don’t fool him. Mica eyes me speculatively as he sits back down at the table. A few seconds later, Adam enters and takes a seat as well. I shoot a nervous glance at him, but his face is impassive. He is obviously still angry with me, but is reining it in for Mica’s benefit. I flash him a grateful smile, which he ignores.

“What’d you get?” Mica asks, reaching into the bag on the table and pulling out the two jackets. He lays them side-by-side on the table. “Matching outerwear?” He grins impishly. “How adorable.”

“Quiet, you,” I say, peeling myself off the wall.

“You get these from Copp?” Mica asks. “How was he? Were things… different?”

“At first,” I say, grabbing the navy jacket off the table. “But you know Copp. It didn’t take long for him to get back to normal. Can’t say the same for just about anyone else there, though. I must’ve gotten twenty death-stares.”

“Yeah, guess that figures. They’ll get over it,” Mica says with a shrug, before turning to Adam. “So, you’ve pretty much covered the whole town now, huh? Will you be leaving soon?”

Mica’s question sparks a flame of self-righteousness in my mind. There’s only so much to see in Sixteen. Adam’s going to leave—and soon. I was right to have stopped… us. But even though I planned it myself, I can’t stop my stomach from clenching up as I consider the fact that once he’s gone, he’ll be gone. Really gone. I know it’s not like when Gran died, or when Dad left, or even when Lee was killed, but the end result is still the same. We’ll probably never see Adam again.

“Why, getting sick of me already?” Adam jokes.

“Of course not, man. Having you around is great.” Mica sinks his voice down to a faux-whisper. “Makes dealing with her much more tolerable.”

I ball up the jacket and throw it at Mica’s head. He catches it with a taunting laugh.

“No, but seriously,” he continues, tossing the jacket back at me. It misses me by a long shot and drifts lamely to the floor. He shrugs unapologetically as I get up to recover it. “Isn’t there someone up there wondering where you are?”

Adam glances at me. “I’m sure they’ve been surviving without me.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say. I walk to my bedroom and close the door behind me. I lean against the back of my door, clutching the jacket to my chest. I suck in one deep breath, then another. Despite all my effort spent trying to resist my attraction to Adam, despite what I told him barely an hour ago—what I told myself barely ten seconds ago—the thought of him leaving still hurts more than I want to admit.

I pull my dresser drawer open to put the jacket away and a glint of metal catches my eye. I push aside a sweater to reveal the broken machine. It feels like ages since I unceremoniously shoved it into the drawer. I can’t believe I almost allowed myself to forget about it.

I eagerly pull the machine out to take a good look. What had Adam called it? A bio-something converter? Whatever the hell that means.

I bounce the converter in my hand, familiarizing myself with its weight and worth again. Despite letting the machine momentarily slip to the back of my mind, my timing is still on track. Collection Day is tomorrow. I put the machine back in the drawer and lay my new jacket on top of it. Just one more day of secrets.

As I close the drawer, my heart starts to race with my reinvigorated plan. I’ve been so distracted by Adam and accompanying him on his exploits across Sixteen, I’d almost forgotten the reason this all happened in the first place.

Not anymore, I think. Time to get back on track.

Chapter 18

I wake early the next day. Collection Day.

Tomorrow is Mica’s birthday and I want to wait until then to surprise him with my plan for his schooling. I form a loose script: I’ll say I need his help running a few errands. He’ll be annoyed, which will only make the revelation sweeter. Eventually, I’ll bring him to the Skyline ticket office where an undated shuttle pass with his name on it will be waiting for him.

I sit up in my bed and smile as I imagine Mica’s face shifting from confusion to comprehension; from irritation to excitement.

God, I hope he’s excited, I think. Even with my determination to block out any thoughts of Adam, I’m finding them difficult to shake. I could really use a boost.

There’s no better time to make sure that the second machine will get us the additional steel we need to make it up top. I can’t risk making a promise to Mica I won’t be able to keep. If I get to the recycling center early enough, at least I won’t have to deal with the dirty looks. People will still hear about it, of course. They always do. But hopefully I’ll be back, safe and sound, before I have to deal with them. Once the steel is safely in my account, there’s nothing anyone will be able to do about it anyway… provided I stay out of the Black Traders’ line of sight.

I get ready slowly, taking the time to brush back my hair and fasten it in an intricate bun. I slip on a pair of slimly cut pants that are cropped at my ankles, and throw my new jacket on over a white tank top. I roll the sleeves up to my elbows and leave the front unzipped.

I slip the machine into my jacket pocket, pleasantly surprised to find how deep the pockets are. The machine’s weight pulls one side of the jacket down, but it’s not in any danger of slipping out. The bulge isn’t even that noticeable.

I creep out of my bedroom and glance at Adam splayed out on the couch. The back of the sofa blocks most of him from view, but his feet hang clear off the end. They dangle over his pack, which is propped up against the side. I tiptoe over to the door, hopeful I’ll be able to slip out unseen, then silently curse when I realize my shoes are sitting at the foot of the couch.

I creep over as quietly as possible, trying not to wake him. My plans are immediately foiled as I peer around the corner of the couch and find myself staring directly into his wide-open eyes.

“Morning,” he whispers.

“Damn, you’re a light sleeper.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I have to run a quick errand.” I keep my voice low so as not to wake Mica.

“Want company?” Adam says, sitting up.

“I thought you were mad at me,” I say.

“I was,” he says, shrugging. “Maybe I still am. But I think it’d be a good chance for us to talk.”

The machine suddenly feels very heavy in my pocket. “I figured you’d be taking off this morning,” I tell him, careful to keep the emotion out of my voice. “You’ve been all over Sixteen and back now. There’s nowhere left to see.” I glance at his new jacket, bundled up in a ball next to his pack. “You even got a souvenir.”

“Doesn’t mean my business here is done,” he says earnestly.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” I say casually, trying to mask my uneasiness. “I won’t be gone long, and Mica will be getting up soon anyway. Maybe you can make breakfast for once, huh?”

I quickly turn away to hide my reddening face. I’d counted on him leaving today, so he wouldn’t find out about the second machine. Then again, why should I care if he does find out now? Maybe the revelation will be just the push he needs to leave us behind.

“Wait a second,” he says, gently grabbing my hand. I immediately pull it back, a reflex. “I have something for you.” He throws his blanket off, revealing he slept in nothing but his boxers. I immediately throw my eyes to the ceiling.

Adam reaches into his pack and pulls out a small, rectangular box.

My eyes widen in surprise. I cock my head to the side, looking at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Just open it.”

I lift the lid to reveal a shiny glint of silver. Inside is the round-faced watch I’d ogled at the jewelry store.

“Wait, this is… How did you…?”

“Observing is kind of my thing.” He lifts the watch out of the box.

“Adam, this is—”

“This isn’t anything,” he says, his voice even. “Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is. I’m just returning it to you, and that’s all.”

“Returning it?”

He flips it over and hands it to me. On the back of the watch face is a scuffed inscription. I tilt the watch until the light hits the metal at the right angle for me to read the words.

To my wife, my love, my life. Yours always, Auron.

“How did you… know?” My words catch in the back of my throat as I turn the watch back over and observe its ticking second hand.

“His name is stitched onto the labels of some of his clothes,” Adam says, taking the watch from me and hooking it delicately around my wrist. “I couldn’t be positive it was your father, but I figured it was worth taking the chance.”

I take in the shape of my mother’s watch as it sits on my wrist, the silver gleaming against my skin. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I say, my eyes glistening as I look up at Adam.

“No thanks necessary,” he says quickly. “I was just getting it back to you, like I said.”

I look at him pointedly, weighing his words against the obvious significance of his actions. The machine feels like lead in my jacket pocket, and guilt bubbles up from the pit of my stomach.

“Is the time on this correct?” I ask, finally acknowledging the practical purpose of the timepiece.

“Should be.”

“I really need to go. But… I agree, we should talk. I’ll be back soon.”

“Well, now you can time yourself,” he says with a lopsided grin.

* * *

The walk to the recycling center is quiet, giving me no choice but to work out the thoughts buzzing around noisily in my head. Adam’s words and actions, my feelings… everything inside me feels conflicted. Going from red-hot to icy-cold to normal—whatever normal is—with him so quickly has wreaked havoc on my emotions.

Even at this early hour, it is surprising how little movement there is on the streets. When I reach the Center itself, the roads are completely dead. There isn’t another scav in sight. I think guiltily about Mal and the other guys—going on about their lives under the Tribunal’s new restrictions, while I eat boxes of ten-credit crackers with a skyboy.

Just another reason to get things back on track, I think, though when I look down at my mother’s watch, I wonder if I mean it.

A solitary Collection Agent sits at the drop-off station, flanked by the standard guardsmen on either side. I don’t recognize any of them, and I have to stifle a giggle as I approach. The contrast between the guardsmen is ludicrous. The one on the left is tall but incredibly thin, with hair as black as night and a pointy jaw. He looks so gangly, I can’t imagine how he was accepted as a guardsman at all; I’ve heard the physical requirements are pretty demanding. The other guardsman must be three times the width of his partner. The muscles in his arms bulge under the sleeves of his uniform, and his shaved head is almost perfectly square. Neither of them pays me any notice as I walk up to the station.

“Hey there,” I say amiably.

The agent, a young-ish man with spiky hair that’s so blond it’s almost white, looks at me condescendingly with turquoise eyes. Spending time with Adam has made me much more comfortable around skydwellers. I’m sure the agent is rarely addressed so genially.

“I have a drop-off contribution.” I stick out my hand and the agent robotically picks up his tablet.

“Name?” he asks as he runs my palm over the screen.

“Rhodon, Terra.”

A beat passes while the agent reads the information on the tablet. His jaw is stiff as he looks back up at me.

“And what is it that you are dropping off?” His eyes are wider, but his voice remains steady.

I glance around again. Not a soul in sight. The guilt bubble in my stomach returns as I pull the machine out of my jacket pocket and lay it on the table.

The agent presses his lips into a hard line as he scans his computer over the machine. I stare at him expectantly, waiting for the startled look of shock when he sees the value of the machine, followed by the hushed announcement of my payout. Instead, the tablet starts to beep.

I freeze, dumbfounded, but the agent does not seem surprised.

“There seems to be an issue with this device. Please wait here for a moment.” He stands abruptly, leaving the machine on the table, and half-walks, half-runs into the recycling center.

I stare at my mother’s watch, and the minutes tick by as I wait. Five minutes. Then ten. There continues to be a distinct lack of other scavs lining up for the Collection, which is disconcerting. By now there should be at least a few early risers coming to stake their spot in line. With each tick of the second hand, my anxiety grows.

The guardsmen watch me with tempered expressions; their white uniforms remind me of Brant and his warnings. Maybe this was a mistake. Just as I am considering leaving, however, the Collection Agent returns. In one hand, he carries a square container with a clear lid. The tablet is hooked under his other arm and continues to beep relentlessly. He carefully picks up the machine, places it inside the container, and locks the lid in place.

“What’s going—”

The agent cuts me off with a flourish of his white-gloved hand. A signal. Before I can react, the lanky guardsman has swooped in on me, pinning my arms behind my back.

“Hey!” I protest, struggling against his grip. “What the hell are you doing? Get off me!”

“Terra Rhodon,” the agent says with an authority that was previously absent from his voice. “You are under arrest.”

Chapter 19

“You are under arrest for the possession of illegal technology. You have withheld information from the Tribunal, and have attempted to leverage this knowledge for personal profit,” the Collection Agent reads from his still-beeping tablet.

“What?!”

“You are to be transported to the capital city of Korbyllis to await further judgment.”

“Korbyllis?” I repeat in a strangled voice. Judgment and punishment are almost always handled directly by the Council here in Sixteen. It’s rare that a lawbreaker would commit a crime that warrants being sent to Korbyllis. Even when a Black Trader gets caught, he doesn’t get sent up top.

The agent flourishes his hand again, and the guardsmen sweep me off my feet and cram me into the back of a waiting transport vehicle.

“You can’t do this,” I yell. “You’re making a huge mistake. Let me go!”

The second the transport’s door slams in my face, I jiggle the handle. Locked. I pound on the window with my fists, then lie back on the seat and slam my feet into the door, hard. It doesn’t budge.

Angry tears well up in my eyes as I watch the agent issue instructions to the two guardsmen. The thin one runs off in the opposite direction with alarming speed, while the brutish-looking one walks around to the other side of the transport and wedges himself into the driver’s seat. I catch a glimpse of his badge as he settles in: Titan. How appropriate.

I begin hurling as many obscenities as I can muster through the gated partition between the front and back of the vehicle. Steadfastly ignoring me, Titan turns on the transport and we take off.

“Help!” I cry, pounding again on the window as we drive through the shopping district, where more people are out on the street. Whether it’s because the passers-by can’t hear me, can’t see me, or are simply choosing to ignore me, I don’t know. Not a single person we pass even bothers to look at me.

After a few minutes, the transport slows down. For a moment, I think we’re going to turn into the parking lot at the Town Hall—where the local guardsmen’s office is housed—but Titan drives right past it. Instead, he heads straight toward the North Gate.

“Wait,” I say, lowering my voice in the hopes that he’ll respond if I’m calmer, “where are you taking me?”

“As Agent Pyke said, you are being transported to Korbyllis.” His voice is low and rough, like chunks of gravel are rolling around in the back of his throat.

“What? Now?” I say frantically. “You can’t. You can’t just take me up there. I haven’t done anything! What about being processed? What about protocol?”

Titan says nothing else, and my frustration and confusion reach their tipping points. The tears that have been looming in my eyes finally spill over, cascading down my cheeks in waves. I feel helpless. Will they even bother telling Mica what has happened? Or will I just be gone?

Illegal technology? I think, recalling Agent Pyke’s words. What does that even mean? All I did was try to turn in the same kind of machine I had turned in before. Adam’s machine.

Adam.

My chest heaves violently and a sob escapes my lips. What will he think has happened? Will they tell him the truth? Will he think I… ran away from him? From Mica?

Will he be able to help?

My panic escalates as we speed north, away from the settlement, toward the Skyline Transfer.

“Please…” I say, catching Titan’s eye in the transport’s rearview mirror, one last desperate plea for mercy. For a moment, it feels like I’m back in the Dead Woods, pleading with the raider, Locke. Like maybe there is still hope.

But where Locke’s pity was my saving grace, all I get from Titan is a solitary glance, his eyes cold and unyielding.

I turn around to face out the back window, clutching my jacket tightly around me. Tears fall as I watch the black walls of Genesis X-16 fade into the distance.

* * *

“We’re here.” Titan’s rough voice wakes me from an uneasy sleep. I look out the window and my eyes meet a darkening sky. A quick glimpse at my watch confirms that it’s almost evening. We’ve been driving all day.

“Move it,” he says, pulling me roughly from the transport. We are in a parking area at the back of the Transfer complex. I guess this is where they take the people they don’t want the paying passengers to see.

Titan shoves me forward, forcing me to walk ahead of him as we approach a large set of metal doors. He knocks twice, pauses, then knocks twice more. A slot in one of the doors slides open, revealing a set of familiar green eyes. The rest of the door opens a second later.

“Brant!” I cry, relief flooding over me. “Brant, please. There’s been a mistake. You have to help me.”

Brant turns to Titan, ignoring me.

“Transfer authorization?” he asks, holding out a tablet.

Titan places his palm on the screen and holds it there until it beeps. “Transfer complete,” he says brusquely. Without so much as another glance in my direction, he leaves.

Brant ushers me inside. Several other guardsmen are lined up in a windowless hallway, the fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows on their faces. Aside from the color—a light, cloudy gray—their uniforms are identical to those worn in Sixteen. I realize that Brant’s is gray as well.

“When did you get promoted here?” I ask him quietly.

His arm is on my shoulder, holding me in place the same way he did That Day, when he escorted me home. He tightens his grip for a moment, but stays silent.

Maybe it wasn’t a promotion.

We weave through a maze of hallways, all lined with guardsmen who seem like they’re waiting for something. It’s not until we pass through a set of swinging doors and into an empty hall that Brant finally opens his mouth.

“What did you do?” he asks, quiet but desperate. He yanks me by my arm into a tiny room off the main hallway. A closet, maybe. He shuts the door behind us. “How did this happen?”

“I’m not even sure what happened! One minute it’s Collection Day and I’m turning in another one of those machines, and the next thing I know I’m being arrested for ‘possession of illegal technology’ and being dragged out here,” I hiss, making air-quotes with my fingers. “Care to enlighten me?”

“What do you mean, another machine?” he asks.

“I found another machine, like the one I turned in before,” I say, leaving out Adam’s involvement.

Brant shakes his head sadly. “Why did you do that? You didn’t realize you were already on their radar?”

“On whose radar?” I ask, my voice rising hysterically.

Brant shushes me. “Calm down. If they catch me…” He sneaks a furtive glance towards the door. “All right. Listen. The Tribunal has been… interested in you since you turned in that machine. It’s technology that should never have been found by anyone, let alone a scav. The Tribunal meant your initial payout as more of a payoff, except it quickly became clear to them that you weren’t interested in dropping the subject. And when you disappeared that day…” he trails off, no doubt remembering his terse interrogation during our last encounter.

“We have instructions to expedite your transfer,” he continues. “You are to be sent up to Korbyllis on the very next shuttle, which happens to be a luxury liner. Keep to yourself, don’t fight, don’t give them any other reasons to keep you. Once you’re up there…” he trails off again. “Terra, listen to me. They are going to want answers. I don’t know what really happened that day, and I don’t want to know. But stick to your story, okay? The one you told me. You never even set foot across the quarantine line. Got it?”

“I don’t think I—,” I start, but Brant cuts me off.

“I don’t know how you’re going to explain this second machine, but you have to try.”

“I just don’t understand why this is happening to me.”

“This isn’t about you, Terra! This is much bigger than you. It’s not about the machine. It’s about what they think you know.”

“But I don’t know anything,” I protest.

Brant pauses. “I believe you,” he says after a moment. “But they won’t.”

He checks the black watch on his wrist. “We have to go.”

“I’m not ready,” I say weakly.

Brant puts both hands on my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly. “You’re strong,” he says. “They just want their answers. Prove that there’s no reason for them to keep you, and they’ll let you go.”

Brant ushers me back into the hallway and toward a heavy sliding door with a sign nailed to it that reads “Loading Dock.”

“It’s just through here. Another guard will accompany you on the shuttle. I don’t have the clearance.” With a grunt, he slides the metal door open and, without walking through it, beckons me forward. It opens up into a tunnel with clear walls; outside, the silhouette of mountains frames the brown and barren landscape. I know there’s nothing around for a hundred miles.

A gleaming white shuttle with polished wings waits at the end of the tunnel. The ship’s body is oval, dotted with double-decker windows, and comes to a point at the hull. Its wings balloon out at the backend, giving it the appearance of a giant spade.

I step through the doorway but turn back to Brant just as he begins to pull the door shut.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask through the remaining sliver of open doorway.

Brant looks at me, his green eyes burning. “Be strong,” he says, his voice shaking. “Your father would want you to be.”

The door slides shut and locks into place with a finite click. I stare at the closed wall of matte metal in front of me, my jaw agape. I want to shout through the door at Brant, to force him back here and make him explain. How does he know my father? How does he know what my father would want of me? Before I can do anything, however, my outraged thoughts are interrupted by the hollow sound of boots stomping toward me.

“Terra Rhodon?” says the guard, a stocky woman with tightly braided blond hair and a heavy brow. Her high, sparkly voice is a total disconnect from her appearance. “Come with me.”

Chapter 20

When Brant said that this was a luxury shuttle, he wasn’t kidding. The ship is possibly the most elaborate thing I have ever seen. Upon embarking, I am immediately led into a small elevator with shiny gold doors. We ride up a single level, then exit into the main cabin. The velvet-lined walls are a deep shade of pink, the lower half stamped with a golden leaf pattern. Ten neatly coiffed female attendants stand against the walls, ready and waiting. Wearing starched yellow blouses with pink crossover ties neatly folded under the collar, they look as much a part of the ship’s decoration as the sparkling crystal chandeliers that hang overhead.

The shuttle’s upper level is sectioned off into individual seating compartments, separated by embossed half-walls that come up to my stomach as I walk past them. While someone could easily see into the stalls on either side, one could just as easily ignore whoever might be sitting inside.

I am led straight through the main area to a small, plain booth tucked far into the back of the cabin, situated between the restrooms and the galley. The use of the booth becomes clear when I see a pair of attendants enter a similar one on the other end of the cabin. A staff compartment. While the other compartments boast plush, cream-colored benches, this one sports a pair of metal chairs with seats that fold up when they’re not in use. The guard who is escorting me leads me to the chair next to the window. She buckles me into my seat before sitting down next to me. The half-walls of our booth are slightly higher than those surrounding the regular compartments, but if I sit straight up in my chair and tilt my chin, I can still observe the rest of the cabin as the other passengers begin to board.

I expect there to be some sort of forward motion or pressure as we lift off, but all I perceive is a slight jingling from the chandeliers. I lean as far away from the window as possible. I don’t need the constant reminder that everything I’ve ever known is thousands of feet below me, getting farther away every second.

My escort’s name, as she happily informs me, is Akryn.

“They don’t even showcase the inside of this class of shuttles on TV,” she says brightly, flicking a piece of fuzz off of her uniform. “You are very lucky to experience it for yourself.”

“Sure,” I mutter sullenly. “Lucky.”

“To be honest, I was surprised to learn you were to be taken up today,” she says. “I know another shuttle wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the day after tomorrow, but still. Shuttles like this are generally reserved for the most elite skydwellers. You know, coming down to go on guided tours of the settlements, see the monuments and landmarks of the old world, that sort of thing.”

“Well, of course,” I say. “Who wouldn’t want a tour of our beautifully barren wasteland?”

Akryn continues without missing a beat. “You know, I bet you’re the first lawbreaker in a hundred years to get this kind of treatment. You might as well make the most of it.”

I’m not exactly sure what treatment she is referring to. The brown-eyed staff has been steadfastly ignoring us since we boarded. They must already be aware of my status as a detainee. I watch them as they bustle about, serving the other passengers with broad smiles on their faces that disappear whenever they glance in my direction.

I watch one of the attendants, a petite brunette woman with a frilly apron wrapped around her waist, pour out a glass of champagne. She hands it to a man in a pinstriped business suit seated in the compartment in front of ours. I wonder what it takes for someone from Sixteen to get a job like hers. Not as abysmal as working on the trash barges, not quite as degrading as being some businessman’s personal aide. In fact, this is probably the closest thing to skyborn life most of us could hope for.

An older woman in the compartment next to the pinstriped man’s has a catlike creature sitting in her lap. I try not to stare too overtly, but it’s hard to look away; this is the first pet I’ve ever seen in real life. The woman strokes the animal’s fluffy white fur between its floppy ears, then adjusts the yellow ribbon tied around its neck. It chirps happily in response—a pleasant, uplifting tune that could only have been engineered in a lab.

The attendant with the champagne retreats to the back of the cabin. As she passes our booth, she glances at me for a second, her brow furrowed, before heading into the galley behind us; she returns with a small cart in tow and a bright smile plastered on her face. As she pushes the cart past us, she pauses and looks at me more decidedly, her smile plummeting into a conflicted frown. She quickly pulls a small covered tray from the cart. She offers the tray to Akryn, who smiles politely but waves it away.

I watch the attendant deliver the tray to the pinstriped man instead. He lifts the cover, revealing half a dozen miniature cakes, each roughly the size of his palm, lining a shining silver platter. I feel a pang of annoyance at Akryn as I watch the man bite into a flower-shaped cake with overlapping peaks of purple frosting. I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself that I shouldn’t want the cakes anyway, even if Akryn had accepted them. I avert my eyes to the floor and fold my hands in my lap, running my thumb along the links of the watchband around my wrist.

It only takes a few hours to reach Korbyllis—I spent more time in the transport with Titan than I have onboard the shuttle—though the thoughts running through my mind make the trip feel much longer. When I’m not consumed with what might be happening on the ground—is Mica safe? Is Adam with him?—I’m desperately trying to plan what to say when I’m processed. I’m still formulating the details of my story when I feel the shuttle begin to slow. I lean closer to the window and peer outside just in time to watch us dip below the sprawling metropolis, then jut straight up into the Skyline Transfer terminal from underneath.

After the other passengers have disembarked, Akryn ushers me out of the shuttle and into a spacious hangar. It is completely bare, aside from a scattering of workers in neon green shirts running to and from the shuttle’s docking bay. On the opposite end of the hangar a second docking bay sits empty. We exit the hangar into a bustling terminal with a vaulted glass ceiling. When I look up, I can see the stars.

A robotic voice blares from speakers that dot the smooth white terminal walls. “Last call for Skyline train passengers traveling to Daedryl.” The main terminal is long and shaped like an oval, with doors that mark individual hangars dotted along both sides. Akryn and I step onto a moving sidewalk and I read the names of the hangars as we glide past.

Altara, Daedryl, Echor, Lexicon… They’re listed in alphabetical order and look identical, except for one. Intheria’s hangar has been closed off, its entrance turned into a memorial for the Skyfall. A few travelers stand beneath the golden plaque bearing the city’s name, their heads bowed in reverence.

Unsurprisingly, inter-skycity travel seems much more popular than trips to and from the groundworld. Though our shuttle only housed a handful of passengers, plenty of skydwellers roam the terminal. They shoot wary looks in my direction as Akryn and I make our way to the exit.

It’s dark outside, but the air is crisp and clean. I inhale deeply as I take in my surroundings. The stars. From beneath the Transfer terminal’s glass ceiling, they didn’t look too special, but out here… The stars glitter from outside the crystal clear UV filter, like cosmic confetti sprinkled across the night sky. The terminal sits on a hill overlooking most of the colossal city; Korbyllis blazes beneath us with so many lights that it looks like it’s on fire.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Akryn says, chuckling at my awestruck expression. “There’s nothing else quite like it in the world.”

She allows me another moment of enthrallment before hurrying me into the back of a vehicle that’s been waiting at the curb. The transport’s windows are tinted black from the outside, and a dark screen separates us from where I assume the driver sits. The vehicle takes off with a jolt, and we zoom through the streets of Korbyllis. Unlike Sixteen, where hardly anyone stays out too long after dark, people are all over the streets here. We pause at a stoplight and I see women giggling in gaggles of three or four as they wait in line outside a thumping nightclub. Elegant couples exiting a restaurant with a sign written in fancy script. Men wearing suits gathered together at the base of a skyscraper, waving their cigars around animatedly as they chat.

It really is a different world up here. On the face of every beautifully made-up woman and cleanly shaven man is a look of pure, unencumbered delight. A look that makes it very obvious they have never known the hardship of the groundworld. And they never will. Not while we are there to endure it for them.

“Unfair” doesn’t even begin to cover it, I think.

It’s half an hour before the vehicle finally comes to a stop. We pull up to an intimidating gate with spikes decorating the tips of its tall black bars. A palatial building sits behind the gate at the end of a long, winding driveway. The building’s polished walls are so white that they gleam under the light from the streetlamps framing the driveway.

“The Capital Building,” Akryn informs me as the gate opens and the transport delivers us to the front. The building’s columned facade makes it seem both historic and intimidating at the same time; I’m not sure whether to be impressed or scared.

“So what happens now?” I ask Akryn as I step out of the transport.

She purses her lips and looks me over. “You will be processed,” she says.

I have the distinct feeling that lawbreaker processing up here is not quite the same as it is in Sixteen. Akryn bypasses the set of golden doors at the building’s front, leading me instead to a small entrance to the side. She pulls a black card from the inside of her jacket and swipes it in a slot next to the handle.

“After you,” she says.

We walk through brightly lit halls for several minutes in silence. Finally, we stop in front of an innocuous white door with a frosted window cut into the top. A plate on the wall to the side of the door says “Processing Room A.” I can see someone standing on the other side through the opaque glass.

“This is where I leave you,” Akryn says, rapping on the door three times. In a low voice she adds, “I’m sorry.”

The door flies open. A black-suited guardsman with beady blue eyes looks me up and down with a grin. I turn back to Akryn, but she’s already gone.

“Welcome, little bird,” the new guardsman says, his voice hoarse. He places an arm, gloved in black leather, around my shoulders and shepherds me inside. The room is a windowless box with musty gray walls. Two stiff, un-cushioned chairs face each other in the center of the room. A small, rectangular metal table sits between them.

The guardsman takes a seat and gestures to the chair across from him.

“Please, sit.”

I hesitate, eyeing the chair dubiously.

“Sit,” he insists. It is not a request.

I unobtrusively scoot the chair back a few inches as I take my seat.

“Allow me to take your jacket,” he says, holding his arm out.

I unzip my jacket with trembling fingers. As he takes it from me, he grabs my hand.

“This is very pretty,” he says, tracing a jagged fingernail along the band of my watch.

I recoil, pulling my arm back and instinctively wrapping my other hand around my wrist.

“Here,” he says, pulling a shallow box from under the table. He folds my jacket into a tight square and places it inside. “We wouldn’t want to ruin it.” He holds out the box, and I reluctantly remove the watch and lay it atop my jacket. I start to draw my hand back, but Wolfe snatches it again and clamps a metal cuff around my wrist. He attaches the other end to my chair, pinning me to my seat.

There is a knock at the door. “Enter,” the guardsman says.

A thin, balding man in a white lab coat enters the room, carrying a silver tray. I cringe at the scraping sound the tray makes as the man centers it on the table. He exits wordlessly.

My nostrils flare as I take in the tray’s contents. There is a cup filled with what I assume to be water, a clear plastic bottle filled with round orange pills, and a syringe boasting a murky blue liquid.

I look up at the guardsman in alarm.

“My name is Wolfe,” he says calmly. “I am your Inquisitor. Welcome to your processing, little bird.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I say.

Wolfe smirks as he glances from me to the tray, and back again. He pulls a small black device—identical to the one Brant used to question me after the Assembly—out of his pocket and sets it on the table.

His voice drips with malice as he picks up the bottle of pills. “Because I am going to make you sing.”

Chapter 21

“Please… stop…” I whimper as Wolfe forces another orange pill between my lips. I don’t know how much more I can take.

The first pill made me relive the memory of my mother’s death. It felt so real. An infant Mica crying in the background. My mother’s limp wrist dangling off the side of her bed. My father, stone-faced and silent, kneeling beside her.

The second pill jerked me back to the day my father left. I walked through the front door into the same empty apartment. I took in the expression on Gran’s face when she returned home with the same confusion. I watched the curve of her mouth as she announced his abandonment with the same outrage.

The visions fade as suddenly as they begin. As soon as I snap back to reality, my body still panging with sadness and fear, Wolfe continues his line of questioning.

“Where did you find the machine?” he says. Despite having already been at this for what I know is quite some time, his voice is as calm and detached as when we first started.

“The Dead Woods,” I say weakly. “You already know that.”

“I meant the second machine.”

“I found them both at the same time.” It’s the explanation I rehearsed during the shuttle ride.

“Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“Why would you have held onto the second one if you found them together?”

“I—I didn’t know it would be that valuable, but I knew it had to be worth a lot. The other scavs, they get so upset when anybody gets a big payout, so I only turned one in at first. When they made such a big deal about it… I got scared. I couldn’t let them know I had another. It wasn’t just the other scavs, either. The Black Traders…” I trail off.

“So what changed? Why bother turning in the second machine at all if that was your concern?”

“I got… selfish.” At least that much is true, I think.

“See, that I believe. What I don’t believe is that you were restrained enough to hold back on a sure bet,” Wolfe says condescendingly. “If I were sitting on that much steel, do you think I would be able to resist locking it safely away in my account? Away from the Traders?”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he continues. “I’ve read your report. You lied to us about not crossing the quarantine line, and you’re lying to us now.”

“I told you, I found them together,” I repeat. “I was just scared. Please, there’s no need to—”

Wolfe bangs his fist on the table, causing the bottle of pills to tip over. They clink as the spill out onto the metal tabletop, rolling over the edge and decorating the floor with tiny orange polka dots.

“You’re trying my patience, little bird,” he says. He pinches a pill between his thumb and pointer finger and holds it out to me. “Let’s try again.”

I shake my head.

“I can continue to make you, if you prefer,” he says threateningly.

My free hand instinctively flies up to my face. I rub the still-sore spot on my jaw where Wolfe gripped my face after each former refusal. Where he squeezed until my mouth was forced open, shoved a pill inside, then clamped my jaw shut until I swallowed.

My hand shakes as I reach for the pill. Within seconds of swallowing, another hallucination starts. This time, instead of a memory, it’s a nightmare. Mica, being sworn in as a Black Trader. His smile curves maliciously as he grips the handle of the still-steaming brand he’s just used to mark his forearm with their trademark black T. His familiar voice, hard and cold, laughs at me. “What did you expect, sis? A fairy tale ending in the sky?”

Wolfe bangs the table, and I gasp back to the present. Over and over, the cycle repeats. The lines of my memories and the nightmares start to blur, until I’m no longer sure what’s real and what’s imaginary.

Gran’s death.

Our home burning to the ground.

Ryk and the raiders, catching me before I escape.

Adam, being shot in front of me.

I know it’s not real. I know that. But it feels so…

“Please,” I beg again. “I’ve already told you everything I know. Please let me go.”

Hours pass. Or it could be minutes. It feels like days, years, decades. We stop only twice. Once, when there’s another knock on the door and a meal is brought in. Wolfe consumes it greedily, watching me as I try to stifle my rumbling stomach. The other interruption comes when I vomit and I am taken to the restroom to clean myself up.

“When did you find the crash site?” Wolfe yells at me, ripping me back to the present. I am shaking; the image of Mica’s broken and bleeding body is still branded in my vision. I clutch my unshackled arm around myself tightly, trying to control my trembling, and I realize I am drenched with sweat. “How long have you been helping them?”

For the fifteenth—or maybe the fiftieth—time, I scream back, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“And I don’t know why you won’t cooperate with me,” Wolfe says.

I whimper. Every question he asks makes less sense than the last. He asks me about things that I honestly don’t know the answer to—people I’ve never heard of, places I’ve never been—and I stop needing to lie. Finally, he walks over and crouches next to me.

“Who are you protecting?” he asks, softening his voice. “And why? I think you need to ask yourself, little bird, if it’s worth it.”

I jerk my head away as he reaches out to push aside the hair sticking to my sweaty forehead.

I hold in another whimper, my lip quivering with the effort.

“It’s time to come clean,” he continues, forcing kindness into his eyes. “Help us, and we’ll help you.”

Whatever it is they think I know, it’s clear that Brant was wrong. The Tribunal is not going to let me go. I muster what small amount of defiance I have left in me, and spit it directly into Wolfe’s face.

He sighs as he wipes my saliva from his cheekbone. Slowly, he pulls the black gloves off his hands, finger by finger, and lays them carefully on the table.

“Fine,” he says. “If that’s how you want it, that’s how we’ll play it. Just remember, I tried to go easy on you.”

I gasp as his fingers curl into a fist. His eyes narrow. He rears his arm back, and I grip the underside of my chair with white knuckles, bracing myself for the bone-crushing impact.

I don’t look away.

Wolfe slams his fist into the left side of my face with such force that it actually blinds me. I hear a beeping noise, and the table vibrates. When my vision returns half a second later, it is dotted with white spots. Tears pool in my eyes. I feel them run down my free hand as I cradle my cheek, and I pray that tears are the only thing making my face wet.

Wolfe shakes out his hand, walking back around the table to retrieve the beeping device. He reads the screen and curses under his breath.

“Looks like you’re off the hook, little bird. Your processing is over.” He shoots me an inquisitive glance before adding, “You must really be something special.”

I want to ask him what he means, to demand an explanation, but I know if I open my mouth, all that will come out are the sobs I am struggling to contain.

Wolfe slips the device into his pocket and grabs the syringe. I should be terrified of the blue liquid, but more fear won’t stop it from happening. Instead, I almost feel… relieved.

At least this part is over, I think.

Wolfe rubs a piece of wet cloth on the side of my neck. I don’t remember seeing the cloth on the tray, but it has the burning smell of alcohol and makes my skin tingle as it dries.

“This might hurt a little,” he says. The irony of that statement coming from the man who just punched me in the face is not lost on me. I gasp as he pushes the needle into my skin. Within moments the throbbing in my cheek begins to fade. My eyelids droop lazily and, before they close completely, I see Wolfe reaching for me.

* * *

When I awaken, I am in a completely different place. This room is bright and stark white. Aside from the two black-suited guardsmen standing near a door on the opposite wall, the room is pretty much empty. There are a few cabinets—also white—lining the walls, and a table piled high with electronics off to the side.

I inspect the guardsmen quickly, and am immediately relieved to see that neither of them is Wolfe. I tense up again, however, when I notice the silver handguns strapped into holsters on their hips. Those aren’t part of the standard uniform.

I am standing but restrained; I couldn’t sit or lie down even if I tried. Cuffs are clamped around my wrists and ankles, and a large plate pins my chest to the wall, holding me upright. The only thing I can really move is my head, though the painful pulse over my left cheek doesn’t make that particularly easy, either.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness of this new room, my ears begin to prick. I hear labored breathing next to me. The sound is only feet away, and I wiggle my head to the left in order to determine their source.

“No.” The words escape my lips unbidden, a reflex.

Next to me, chained up in exactly the same way, his eyes closed and head drooping, is Adam.

Chapter 22

“Adam? Adam!” I try to keep my voice low, but make no attempt to hide my hysteria. His eyes flutter weakly as he turns his head in my direction. I exhale in relief. At least he’s conscious.

“Hey you,” he says feebly, attempting his lopsided grin. His lower lip is puffy and there’s a shadow over his right eye, like he’s been in a fight. I grimace as I recall my session with Wolfe, and realize I probably look much worse.

“Are you okay?” I ask, though I’m not sure why. The answer is pretty obvious.

“Oh, sure. You know me. I’m a trooper,” he says, but as he turns his head further toward me, he winces visibly.

I smile sadly. A small part of me is relieved to see him, but a much larger part is terrified.

“How… why… what…” My words come out in a jumble. Why is he here? How is he here? Is this part of their tactic to get me to talk? And if they took Adam to get to me, then…

“Where’s Mica?” I say suddenly. “Is he—”

“It’s okay,” Adam says, cutting me off. “Mica was gone when… when they came for me. They weren’t interested in him.”

“I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so, so sorry. This is all my fault,” I say.

He looks at me in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s me. I… I took that broken machine that you had, back in the…” I trail off before I let the word “biodome” slip out. I want to be able to explain everything to Adam, but considering what I went through to keep Wolfe from knowing about my jaunt into the ruins, there’s no way in hell I’m risking one of the guardsmen hearing me. I lower my voice to a whisper. “The converter. It looked exactly like the other machine I found and I just… I’m sorry. They flagged me the second I turned it in. And when I couldn’t answer their questions… It’s my fault you got dragged into this.”

I suck in a deep breath and wait for Adam’s reaction, preparing for the worst. To my utter shock, he meets my eyes with relief instead of anger.

“Terra,” he says soothingly. “This is not your fault. Sure, you probably should have let me know about the conversion unit, but… This isn’t about you.”

“What is it about then?”

Adam’s eyes are pained, but he doesn’t answer.

I press him. “When I was being… questioned,” my voice catches on the word, “my interrogator said something… something about a crash and…” The details of my processing are hazy. I try to regroup my thoughts. “The converter, was it… stolen or something? Is that why we’re here?”

“What exactly did they do to you?” he demands, ignoring my questions. His gaze lingers under my left eye, and I wonder what kind of bruise has already formed there.

“It’s nothing,” I say unconvincingly. I can’t maintain his gaze; the drug-induced visions are too fresh. Of course, I don’t know what I expect to hide from Adam. He knows anyway.

“Terra…” His voice is soft and heavy with compassion. No, not compassion. Pity.

Adam’s sympathy hits me hard in my chest and something inside me snaps. “What have we done?” I yell at the guardsmen. “Let us go!”

“Try to stay calm,” Adam says softly. The guardsmen scan us emotionlessly, then turn their backs to us.

I lower my voice back to a whisper. “Can you… can you do your thing?” I ask Adam. “FX your way out of these?” I wiggle my fingers as much as the cuffs will let me.

He looks at me warningly. “Shh,” he says, throwing his eyes towards the guards. His forehead creases in concentration, but after a few moments he shakes his head. “Can’t focus it like this. I need my hands.” His voice is barely louder than a breath.

“Why is this happening?” I whisper frantically, desperate for his assurance that everything is going to be okay, that this is all just some kind of misunderstanding.

Instead, he turns with a glare to the guardsman closest to us. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he says grimly.

I hear a door slide open and the clack of high heels on the floor. A woman wearing a mint green blazer crosses the room to stand directly in front of us. Her auburn hair is slicked back into a tight bun.

She pulls her spectacles from the breast pocket of her blazer and frames them over her ice blue eyes.

Prime Morrigan Whitlock.

“Oh good, you’re both awake,” she says cheerfully. She turns to me. “Hello, Terra.”

I stare at her, unable to speak. What does one of the most important people in Korbyllis—the world, even—want with me? I have to hope that she’s somehow connected with Adam, that she’s been summoned by his research department or something, and is here to help. Unfortunately, the narrowing of her eyes as she appraises the two of us does nothing to support my desperate theory.

“Let’s try that again. I am Morrigan Whitlock, Prime of the Tribunal. Hello.”

“I know who you are,” I muster.

“Of course you do,” she says. “This is your first visit to the skyworld, I understand. Tell me, Terra, what do you think of it?”

“It’s not quite what I expected,” I say, more evenly this time.

Prime Whitlock laughs—a cold, high-pitched squeal. “Understandable. It is unfortunate that your first taste of Korbyllis had to be under these circumstances. I heard your processing with Inquisitor Wolfe did not go well.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“He’s one of our most talented Inquisitors, you know. Most people crack within minutes. But not you. Which is why we had to put our secondary plan in motion. We initially went looking for your brother, of course,” she says, motioning towards Adam. “A bargaining chip, if you will.”

“What?” I respond instantly, my voice suddenly frantic. I turn my face to Adam. “You said they didn’t want him.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring at me apologetically. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought it would be easier…”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Terra. Your man was there to save the day.” Prime Whitlock purses her lips and turns her attention to Adam, looking him up and down. “The arresting guardsman said you offered yourself up in her brother’s stead almost immediately. Very noble. Especially in light of what I’m sure you knew would happen.”

My mouth falls open. Adam grits his teeth.

“Of course, we were looking for you all along.” She pauses for a moment, turning her gaze back to me and peering through her spectacles with feigned sympathy. “Which, sadly, makes everything this poor girl has gone through pretty much moot. Pity.”

“What is she talking about?” I ask Adam.

“Yes, why don’t you explain things to her?” says Prime Whitlock, smirking. “Though I have to say, with all your gallivanting across her settlement, all that time spent bonding, I’m a little surprised you haven’t taken the time to tell her already.”

“Why don’t you take those pseudo-intellectual glasses and go find yourself a different toy?” Adam glares at Whitlock with an expression so dark, he’s almost unrecognizable.

In an instant, her smooth smile is gone. She narrows her eyes. “I think that’s enough out of you.” She snaps her fingers and one of the guardsmen swoops down to wrap a black cloth around Adam’s mouth.

“Don’t—” I object, but there’s no point. Before I can finish my thought, the gag is in place. Adam grunts against it for a moment, biting down on the thick fabric, but quickly falls silent.

“We’ve been watching you very closely since that day at the Collection, Terra. We wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, of course. We even rewarded you handsomely for your trouble. But you couldn’t let it be.”

“I didn’t know what it was. I was just curious,” I say desperately.

“Then, a few days later, you just… disappeared,” she continues. “Gone, all day. Nobody knew where, and nobody seemed to know when you’d be coming back. When you did finally return, you had this one in tow.” She jerks her head toward Adam. “We weren’t completely sure who he was at first, of course, so we had to keep our distance. Lucky for us, his sense of self-preservation seemed to be overtaken by his desire to find the rest of his team. The more he pranced about throughout your settlement, the surer we became of his identity. Then it was just a matter of getting a hold of him. Which is, of course, where you came in.”

Muffled shouts pour from Adam’s mouth. Prime Whitlock ignores him, raising her voice over his muted yells. “Really, we should be thanking you, Terra. We knew he’d be much too slippery to nab right off the bat, so we had to think of another way to reel him in. You and your brother were the obvious choices, but finding a reason to get to you was a bit problematic, too. You saved us a lot of trouble by being so delightfully predictable. When you turned in the second machine, you gave us just the excuse we needed to scoop you up for questioning. You just couldn’t resist, could you? Access to all that technology…”

“I. Don’t. Know. What. You. Are. Talking. About!” I scream, my frustration and confusion boiling over. “I don’t know what technology you’re talking about. I just found the machines. Two machines, that’s all.”

“I’m sure.” Prime Whitlock peers at me over the top of her glasses.

“Just tell us what you want,” I plead. “If this is about the quarantine violation, I swear, there’s nothing wrong with us. We didn’t contract anything or—”

Prime Whitlock’s eyebrows shoot up, her gaze darting from Adam to me. “My, my,” she says. “You really don’t know.”

“Know what?” I half scream, half sigh.

“Even after Wolfe couldn’t get you to talk, we still assumed you had to know something,” she says to herself. “The proximity of the landing site to the ruins… the converter… the quarantine breaches…”

“Know what?” I repeat, clenching my jaw.

Adam jerks against his restraints.

“Didn’t you ever wonder, Terra?” Her icy eyes are piercing as she paces in front of me. Clack, clack, clack. “How he knew so much, but still had so many questions? Why he was so interested in Genesis X-16? In you?”

“If I could get over it,” I spit, “you should certainly be able to.”

“I can’t really blame you,” she continues, ignoring my remark. “I suppose if you had bothered to finish your schooling, you might have picked up on it sooner.”

The insult is more cutting than it should be. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh please. We know everything about you.” She reaches down to unhook a small computer tablet clipped to her belt, and begins reading aloud from it. “Terra Eryth Rhodon. Eighteen years old. Two living blood relatives. Resident of the Western Quadrant of Genesis X-16. Ceased schooling at fifteen. To take up scavenging, of all things,” she adds.

Disdain drips from her voice as she continues to pace. Clack, clack.

“Legal guardian of younger brother, Auron Mica Rhodon, age thirteen. Oh, would you look at that? Age fourteen, as of today. How sweet,” she says, looking at me with a sardonic smile. “You aren’t exactly a superior example of the groundworld education system, are you? Not that education down there amounts to much in general, but still. Your knowledge of Earth’s history is almost as antiquated as his,” she says, jerking her head in Adam’s direction. “Plus or minus a few centuries, I suppose.” She laughs appreciatively, as though she’s just heard a hilarious joke. Abruptly, she stops pacing, hooks her tablet back onto her belt, and plants herself directly in front of Adam.

She reaches out with long, manicured fingers and grabs his chin, forcibly turning his head from side to side. He stifles a moan as her fingers press into a bruise on his jawline.

“Get your hands off him,” I snarl, straining futilely against my bonds.

“Ooh, touchy.” She smirks as she releases his face. “All right, fine. If you haven’t figured it out by now… Allow me to be the bearer of bad news.”

Adam’s eyes widen pleadingly.

“Your boyfriend is not like you,” she says.

“I know that,” I reply slowly. “He’s one of you. Any idiot can tell that.”

Prime Whitlock laughs again; the screech rings in my ears and I know I’ll never be able to forget it. “What an apt choice of words. Oh, terrestrials. So entertaining. But no, my dear. What I meant to say is, he is not from here.”

I wrinkle my brow, confused.

“Not from Earth,” she clarifies.

“What?” I laugh derisively. “Are you saying he’s… an alien? Please don’t tell me our government is being led by some spacenut conspiracy theorist.”

“You’re smart to be skeptical. Surprisingly so. But it’s true. He and his crew crashed their—for lack of a better term—spaceship near the ruins of the District. I’m still not sure how we missed him during the extraction. We didn’t even know he existed until he told us himself. The others were all quite tight-lipped on the subject.”

“Others?”

“While the two of you have been playing house, we’ve been putting the rest of them to good use.” Her eyes narrow menacingly as she picks up her pacing again.

Adam attempts to lunge forward against his chest plate, screaming in his throat.

“It’s clear that whatever resources they used to learn about our culture are rather outdated. Aside from that, however, their technology really is quite astounding. We decoded his companions’ datapads, not without difficulty. Their plan was quite clever, really. They look just like us, after all. Barely even extraterrestrial. So they come down here armed with a basic understanding of human history, and hey, almost blend right in. Almost.”

She turns back toward me. “You understand now, don’t you, Terra? Whatever he’s been telling you, whatever he’s been having you do for him, he’s really been using you for information. Settlement locations, population numbers, military tactics… and before you know it—,” she stops and bangs her fist on the wall between our heads “—invasion.”

“This is ridiculous,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t believe you.”

“No? What, he’s never displayed knowledge or produced technology beyond what you’ve experienced? He’s never done anything suspicious, anything you just can’t quite explain? Given all your time spent together, that’s what I find hard to believe.”

I stare at her, keeping my eyes narrowed to mask the thoughts that are now running amuck in my mind. Something does feel out of place—maybe it always has. The miraculous water filters, his anxiety at the Assembly, his lack of groundworld knowledge, his FX… what happened to Loran Underwood. Even when I had suspicions, I always wrote them off as symptoms of his skyboy life. But a researcher working for the Tribunal should have been prepared for a quarantine investigation. And just a few minutes ago, he didn’t want the guards to know about his abilities.

“Still not convinced?” Prime Whitlock says. “Fine, ask him yourself.” She pulls the gag out of Adam’s mouth and tosses it to the ground. He coughs violently.

“Adam?” I say softly, turning my head toward him. I search his face, looking for some sign that Prime Whitlock is lying, that she’s just trying to drive a wedge between us. Instead, his blazing blue eyes meet mine with fear and uncertainty.

“I—I…” he stutters, but he looks away before any actual words come out.

A rock the size of my fist falls in my chest.

“Oh God.” Bile churns in my stomach and I feel the blood drain from my face.

“Terra, no, it’s not like that. She’s twisting it, we just—,” Adam starts, but the tablet at Prime Whitlock’s waist starts to beep, interrupting him.

“Well, as much as I enjoy watching dashed hopes flit across this pretty young thing’s face,” she says loudly over Adam’s continued pleas, “I’ve got places to go, people to see.” She stresses the word, staring right into Adam’s dejected face.

My nostrils flare as I breathe deeply, trying to contain my emotions.

Prime Whitlock tucks her glasses back into her blazer pocket and turns to me. “I’ll allow you five minutes to… say your goodbyes. When you’re done, you will be escorted home. We have no reason to detain you further. The guardsmen will be waiting for you outside if you decide you don’t require all five minutes to do so.” She chuckles to herself as she unlatches my wrist and ankle cuffs, then pulls a key from a chain around her neck to unlock the plate on my chest. I fall to the floor and catch myself with my hands, wobbling unsteadily.

Prime Whitlock hovers over me for a moment. “I do apologize for how you’ve been treated, Terra,” she says with thinly veiled insincerity. “We had to assume the worst, you understand. Better safe than sorry, and all that. Speaking of which, we’ll be leaving him locked up. Safety first!”

She tucks the key back into her shirt and leaves. The guardsmen follow her out, and it isn’t until the door shuts behind them that the clacking finally fades.

Chapter 23

“So, you lied to me.”

“Only a little?” Adam says lightly, trying to ease the tension.

“This is not a joke.” I try to look at him with new eyes, but all I see is the same Adam. Despite what Prime Whitlock said, I can’t just leave him tied up and helpless. I loosen the bindings on his wrists, but I don’t have a way to unlock his chest plate. I imagine that once his hands are free, his FX can take care of the rest.

“Technically, I never lied to you. You made assumptions based on the information you were given, and I simply failed to correct you.” The side of his mouth starts to edge upward, forming that lopsided half-smile of his. It looks foreign now. No, not foreign. Alien.

“You think you’re going to get off on a technicality? Don’t you think the whole ‘I’m from outer space’ thing should have come up at least once?” My voice rises and I take a deep breath to steady myself. I can’t get carried away; who knows how alone we really are.

“It’s not that simple, Terra. I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want you to react—well, like this.”

“How am I supposed to react, Adam? Or, I’m sorry, is that even your real name? Or is it Zorqblatt, or something with a lot of Xs and Qs that our primitive human tongues can’t pronounce?”

“This isn’t some sci fi movie, Terra. It’s not like Mica’s comics.”

“So what is it then?”

“It’s complicated.”

“So complicated you couldn’t even try to explain? Not once? Not when we were marveling at your ridiculously expansive knowledge, or the technology at your disposal, or your telekinesis? You couldn’t have pulled me aside and said, ‘Oh hey, Terra, by the way, it’s not a big deal or anything, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m not actually a skydweller. In fact, I’m not even from this planet. Okay, carry on.’ God, I feel so stupid. I am stupid. I should have known something was wrong with you.”

Adam flinches at my words, and for a second I regret them. Before I can contemplate taking them back, however, he’s already moving on.

“I was just trying to protect you,” he says. “That’s all I have done, all I’ve wanted to do, since I first saw you.”

“No. Don’t give me that. You were lonely down there, you felt abandoned, and I was literally the first living, breathing thing you came across. All you’ve really done is string me along with your charm and your wit and your damn grin, and the whole time you knew. You knew. Every minute you spent with us put Mica and me in danger.”

“Please, just listen to—”

“And the worst part is that I believed you! Research, sure! You came down here to explore, you came here to learn! Of course! Never mind where you came from in the first place. Never mind the fact that it was preparation for, what, some kind of invasion? Never mind the fact that you’re not even human.” My voice cracks on the word. “That’s how you’re so good, I see it now. You answered just enough of my questions, I never even thought to ask the one that really mattered.”

“But it doesn’t matter, Terra,” he says, looking at me earnestly. “There is a reason that all of this has happened. Our ship was malfunctioning. We were going to crash. My team told me not to, but I went out to fix an external part and when I did… I was thrown. I fell. I shouldn’t even have survived, but I did. Though by the sound of it, it was partly at Loran Underwood’s expense. But by the time I woke up, I was alone. I thought my team might’ve stopped to look for me, but there was no sign of them. Not even landing marks. I figured they thought I was dead and had moved on. They had good reason to. I had no way to communicate and no idea where I was or where to go. The only city within sight was the District, completely devoid of life, but I couldn’t stray too far. What if they came looking for me? If I left, it’d be just another thing to blame on my reckless impatience. For days, I was completely alone. I was so close to losing hope.”

“You’re pretty much proving my point. I was your first living contact, that’s it. It had nothing to do with me.”

“It had everything to do with you! I could have landed anywhere, but I landed near Sixteen. Anyone could have found the converter, but it was you who did. You could have run in any direction when the raiders were after you, but you ended up running into me. And finding you… you gave me hope that I wasn’t alone anymore. Don’t you see? We were meant to save each other.”

My tear ducts prick as he speaks. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want any of it.

“So I’m supposed to believe that this is all part of some greater plan? That it was, what, fate? I was meant to save you, huh? Why? So you could reunite with your extraterrestrial comrades and then what? Invade, enslave, and destroy?”

“No!” Adam tries to protest, but my words tumble out like an inferno.

“How long were you going to wait until you told me the truth? Until you could lock me up yourself? Until the rest of your people got here to back you up? I can’t believe I thought… you made me think… made me want…” My words catch in my throat. I glare at him, my chest heaving, and feel the tears stinging threateningly behind my eyes.

No. He does not get this, too.

I need to get away. I stumble toward the door as quickly as I can, though the teardrops lining the rims of my eyes blur my vision.

“Terra, don’t,” he says. “They aren’t just going to let you go. You see that, right? She’s only doing this to mess with us. Don’t give her what she wants.”

I’m ten steps away from the door.

“We can talk about this. I can help you understand. It’s not what you think. It’s not like she said!”

Five steps.

“Please,” he begs. “I… I would never hurt you. I care about you.”

I reach the door just as the first tear spills down my cheek.

“Go to hell, Adam,” I say, my hands curling into fists as I push the door open. “Or, at the very least, go back to wherever the hell you came from.”

Chapter 24

“I’d like to go home now,” I say weakly to the guardsmen once I’ve left the holding room. I don’t keep myself from crying; I don’t think I could even if I tried. I let the tears roll down my face as one guard catches the eye of his compatriot and nods. The guardsmen pincer me in as we walk down the hall: one leading in front, one at my back. We stop in front of an elevator and one of the guards hits the “Up” button.

“Where are we going?” I ask, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.

“There is some final paperwork you need to complete before you can be discharged,” one of them says formally. “Your outprocessing.”

“Oh.” Fine. Paperwork, I can handle. “And my personal effects?”

“That too.”

I consider whether I’ll be able to stomach wearing my mother’s watch again. I can’t bear to leave it behind, but I know that all it will do is serve as a reminder of Adam.

The elevator dings, the doors open, and I am steered inside. I try not to, but I can’t help wondering if Adam has freed himself from his restraints yet. Will he be able to get out? Where will he go when he does?

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. He’s not my problem anymore.

The elevator dings again as we arrive on the fifth floor. A cursory look at the elevator’s button panel indicates that this is the building’s top floor. Based on the number of sublevel buttons there are, however, it evidently goes down much further than it goes up.

The guardsmen lead me down a hallway. Halfway down, there is a row of chairs lining the right side. They face wide windows that look out the front of the building.

“Wait here.” One of the guardsmen guides me into a chair, while the other continues to the end of the hall and disappears inside a door. I can still see through the windows from my seat, and can’t help watching the scene outside. The sun casts a soft glow on the city, and everything looks completely different in the light of day; the glitz and glamour of Korbyllis nightlife has been replaced with polish and elegance.

Potted plants frame the front doors of residences and small trees decorate the sidewalks every few yards. I know they’re mostly fake, but I’m instantly reminded of the biodome. I pinch my arm to avoid reliving my time there.

Well-dressed citizens meander slowly through the streets below, engaging each other with pleasant expressions on their faces. It infuriates me to see how normal things are on the outside, when, inside this building, my entire world has been forever altered.

I watch a sandy-haired boy cross the street, guided by a woman I assume is his mother, and I feel a pang in my chest.

Today is Mica’s birthday. My baby brother’s fourteenth birthday, and I’m not there. I don’t even know if he’s all right. The best I can hope for is that he’s been left alone.

How ironic that I’m here in the very place I had wanted to send him. I’ve been so consumed with how the skyworld could change his life for the better, but instead it has irreparably distorted mine. The skyworld was supposed to be magical; now that I’ve seen it for myself, though, it seems… fake. Everything’s too neat, too pristine. Superficially, sure, it’s beautiful. But there’s something missing.

I wait for a long time, gazing out the window and watching the light grow warm and soft as the sun slowly glides across the sky. I nearly doze off in my seat. Finally, the guard clears his throat. I look up to see the other guardsman returning.

“Will this take much longer?” I ask wearily as I stand.

The guard ignores me, and we rejoin his partner. We reach the door at the end of the hall and enter a laboratory. The room itself is almost identical to the one I was held in with Adam—white walls, bright lights, and lots of open space. Along the walls, the shackles that bound us have been replaced by metal worktables, and instead of guards there are a dozen white-coated workers bustling about. The back of the room is lined with a row of cots that have metal bars around them.

“What are we doing here?” I stop mid-stride. Something feels wrong.

“Outprocessing,” one of the guardsmen says gruffly.

“I just want to go home.”

“And you will.” The guardsmen grip my shoulders firmly and tug me forward, toward the cots in the back. “After you are outprocessed.”

“No, stop,” I say, struggling against their hold. A few of the lab workers look up at me. As we near the beds, I see a small silver tray, a syringe of blue liquid resting on top. A prickle runs through my entire body as my mind flashes back to my inquisition with Wolfe. “No!”

I’m not strong enough to force my way out of the guardsmen’s grasp, so I let my legs fall limp. I drop to the ground, surprising the guards just enough to wrench myself free. I turn on the spot and race back across the room, the surrounding lab technicians fading into a white blur as I pass.

Before I can reach the door, another guardsman enters through it. He sees me running toward him and draws his gun.

“Stop her!” one of the guards behind me yells.

The new guardsman pulls the trigger. I collapse, shuddering uncontrollably as an electric pulse races through my body.

The guard who stunned me loops his arms under my shoulders and starts to drag my convulsing, immobile body across the floor.

“Adam…” I mutter feebly, the words slipping off my tongue unintentionally. My brain feels like it’s vibrating against my skull. “Adam, help.”

I can barely keep my eyes open. My brain and body, ravaged by the stun gun, are in total disarray. All I feel is the hard floor beneath my legs as I’m hauled backwards, until I’m suddenly dropped and my head smacks against the tile.

A crash sounds.

Somebody curses.

The smell of burning.

A chorus of shouting.

I try to focus my eyes but the room is a watery blur. Fuzzy shapes race back and forth in front of me.

A siren goes off and suddenly there is a shadow crouching over me.

“Hey!” the shadow says harshly, barely audible over the commotion. “What did you say?”

I stare blankly at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. I feel a sharp sting across my face as the shadow slaps my cheek. It echoes into the spot where Wolfe punched me and the pain makes me slightly more aware. Just slightly.

“Ow,” I say.

“What did you say before?” The shadow has a woman’s voice. She wears a white coat. “Why did you say ‘Adam’?”

“Because Adam’s going to save me,” I slur. “We were meant to save each other.”

“Is he here? Is Adam here?”

“Of course he is,” I say, my words garbled. My tongue feels like it weighs twenty pounds. “Where else would he be?”

“Get up,” she says.

I try to sit up. My head flops to the side.

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

There is an explosion, then more shouting.

With half-open eyes, I see the desks around me start to move. No, wait. They’re not moving. I am. My vision starts to clear as my body slides across the floor, the rest of the room consumed in chaos.

“Luke! Come on, we’ve got to go!”

I am weightless. I float through the air as my shadowy interrogator and I head for the door where we are joined by another white coat: a man with dark hair. They move stealthily through the halls and into a stairwell. I glide along behind them as they descend, as if toted by an invisible rope.

“What are we doing, Charlie?” the man asks.

“You heard her. She said his name. She said he’s here.” Charlie pulls at the bun on the back of her head and a cascade of burgundy hair falls down her back.

“That’s impossible. We don’t even know who she is. This could be a trap!”

“I know what I heard, Luke. You saw what happened in there. This girl knows something, otherwise they wouldn’t have been prepping her for outprocessing. There’d be no reason to make her forget.”

“Well, she’s not exactly in a state to tell us anything right now, is she?”

“We can’t go back now, anyway,” Charlie says.

“And whose fault is that?”

We stop moving. Charlie opens a door in front of us and we enter what looks like a storage room. Charlie’s FX breaks its hold on me, and my body hits the floor beside a pile of crates. With the modicum of bodily control I’ve regained, I hoist myself up into a seated position and lean against the boxes.

I look up to find Luke barring the door with a large crate. A floor above us, the alarm is still going off.

“We should be okay for now,” he says. “I don’t think anyone noticed us in the chaos of the fire. But it’s only a matter of time before they come looking. We need to get Tom and get out.”

“Not before we hear what she has to say,” Charlie says.

I blink. My vision restored, I am finally able to get a good look at my rescuers.

Luke towers over me, looking down with turquoise eyes, framed by thick, dark eyebrows. Streaks of gray run from his temples back through his dark hair, though he doesn’t otherwise look much older than Adam. He watches me with concern.

Charlie, on the other hand, assesses me with an entirely different expression. Her violet eyes are narrowed and her jaw is stiff as she sheds her lab coat, revealing a form-fitting metallic jumpsuit. Svelte and leggy, her deep red hair looks a little listless and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she is otherwise stunning.

“Come on, out with it. What was that about back there?” she says abruptly. When I don’t respond, she kicks the side of my foot with her shoe. “Hello, we don’t have all day.”

I stare at her in disbelief.

“Take it easy,” says Luke. “She’s clearly been through a lot.”

Charlie crosses her arms, but steps back to allow Luke to approach me.

“What’s your name?” he asks kindly.

I bite my lip. “Terra.”

“Oh, sure, now she can talk,” Charlie says.

“I… I…” I stammer, still regaining control of my verbal faculties, though there’s a lot I’d like to say to her.

Charlie sighs melodramatically, and my tongue finally unlocks.

“Just give me a minute,” I say demandingly.

“We don’t have a minute,” she says.

Luke shoots her a scolding look.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” I spit, “but I wasn’t exactly in any shape to chat back there.”

“And I don’t know if you noticed, but we saved your scrawny ass back there.”

What is her problem? “What is your deal?” I ask, aggravated.

“My deal? What’s yours? How the hell do you know about Adam?”

“Charlie,” Luke cautions.

“You’re the rest of his team,” I say. It’s not a question.

“How do you know that?” Charlie asks angrily.

Luke ignores her outburst. “Most of it,” he says. “I’m Luke. This is Charlie. You obviously already know Adam. And there’s a fourth, Thomas.”

“Hey, quit it!” Charlie slaps him on the shoulder. “She’s not the one who needs answers.”

Luke sighs resignedly.

“How do you know about us?” she repeats.

“He told me,” I say flatly.

Charlie’s nostrils flare with annoyance. “Look, either you’re going to start providing some real answers or—”

“Shh!” Luke holds his hand up, immediately silencing her. I listen intently for whatever sound is causing him alarm, but hear nothing.

“I don’t hear anything,” I whisper.

Charlie shoots me a death-glare.

Seconds later, a shadow passes over a crack of light at the bottom of the door, still visible despite the barricade. Charlie raises her hands defensively while Luke quietly opens a small box and pulls out a gun. He checks the side to make sure the stunner safety is on.

I hold my breath.

The crate barring the door scrapes on the floor as the intruder pushes against it. Charlie’s brow is creased in concentration, using her FX to keep the door shut, but whoever is trying to get in from the other side is just barely stronger than she is. The door creaks open an inch at a time.

Luke raises his gun and gestures for me to get behind him. With no small effort, I will my shaky legs to stand and comply.

Charlie lets out the tiniest groan as her focus falters.

The door swings open.

Charlie sucks in a deep breath.

Luke drops his gun arm.

“Well, this looks like quite the party.” Adam’s voice, warm and familiar, sounds from the doorway. “Mind if I crash it?”

Chapter 25

Dead silence falls over the small storage room. The grin on Adam’s face falters as Charlie, Luke, and I stare at him in bewilderment. Finally, Luke clears his throat and the impasse of silence breaks. My emotions churn up inside of me like a geyser, propelling my feet into motion before I can stop myself.

I don’t think. I don’t care. I just run straight into Adam’s arms.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, stroking my back. “You’re okay.”

I lift my head from his chest and am unsurprised to see wet marks on his shirt. “You were right,” I say bitterly. “They weren’t just going to let me go. At least not like this.”

Adam’s embrace tightens. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing. They didn’t get a chance to, thanks to them.” I look over at Luke, who is watching us in awe, and Charlie, who just looks irritated. “I’m sorry I wouldn’t listen to you.”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he says. “I never meant to hurt you. You know Whitlock was lying, right? I… we don’t intend to hurt anyone at all.”

“I know,” I say, looking earnestly into his eyes.

“As adorable as this little reunion is, don’t you think there’s a slightly more pressing matter at hand here?” Charlie rolls her eyes as she repositions the barricade in front of the door.

“Nice to see you too, Chuck.” Adam guides me over to a box of supplies and helps me sit down. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks. I nod and he turns around to face Luke.

There’s a moment of hesitation, as if neither of them knows what to say. Another second passes and suddenly they explode into a clash of grins, back slaps, and hugs.

“We thought you were dead,” Luke says, clamping his hands around Adam’s shoulders.

“I should be,” Adam says, laughing. “I fell a pretty long way.”

“How did you even survive?” Charlie asks.

“My FX might not be quite at Charlie-like levels, but I guess it’s a bit stronger than I thought.” She slaps him playfully on the back, and he continues. “I managed to slow down just enough to save myself from shattering every bone in my body. Still hurt like a mother, though. Cracked a couple ribs, I think.” He looks guiltily in my direction. “And someone else got hurt because of it.”

A few silent seconds pass before Luke speaks again. “Where have you been this whole time?”

Adam looks at me.

Luke follows his gaze and nods. “Ah.”

“I swear, Luke, I had no idea what was happening to you. The fall knocked me out pretty good, and by the time I came to, there was no sign of you guys. Not even landing marks. My datapad was damaged when I fell—it still works, but the communicator function is all jammed up. I figured you thought I died and had just… moved on.”

“Give us a little credit. As if we would’ve left you behind.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have.”

“C’mon, Adam.” Luke shakes his head. “You know better than that. Tom was the one who insisted we land and look for you. We just never really got around to the second part.”

“The Tribunal.”

“Yep. With the ship malfunctioning, it was a rough landing, though nothing we couldn’t handle. But that ice queen Whitlock nabbed us before we even had a chance of finding you. Took us by complete surprise—I don’t even know how they got there so fast. They grabbed us, the ship, everything. Then got rid of the evidence. Aside from you, I guess.”

“How are you here? How did you find us?” Charlie asks.

“I’ll give you the abridged version,” Adam says, glancing at me. “I got picked up from the groundworld and was shipped up here. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a holding room with Terra chained up next to me and I’m finding out you guys have been captive this whole time.” He looks from Charlie to Luke and back again, his expression pained. “I am so, so sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” Charlie’s tone is softer now.

“After they released Terra, a couple of guards came in to get me. I gave them the slip and went looking for you. Eventually I overheard a few people talking about some commotion in the lab, and figured that’d be a good place to start. I caught sight of you all just as you were sneaking out, and followed you down.”

“And to think, all those hours you spent whining about how you can’t track worth a damn,” Charlie says with a grin.

“Look, I don’t want to offend anyone or anything,” I say suddenly, “but I’m having a hard time understanding why you guys are still, uh, here. If it’s really like Prime Whitlock said, and the Tribunal fears some kind of alien invasion, then why wouldn’t they just kill you? And me, for that matter.”

“I don’t really have an answer with regard to you,” Luke replies. “Maybe it would raise too many questions, be too difficult to cover up. Or, I don’t know, maybe the Tribunal really does have some kind of a conscience.”

Charlie snorts.

“At least when it comes to the potential murder of an innocent civilian,” he continues. “But as for us, well, they need us.”

“What do you mean?” asks Adam.

“They have us working around the clock, and we’re under lock and key the rest of the time,” Luke says.

“Don’t forget the guns constantly aimed at our backs,” Charlie adds bitterly.

Luke continues. “They have Charlie updating the schematics of their oxygen generator; Tom’s been practically living in the engine room. They monitor our conversation pretty closely, but from what we’ve been able to glean from each other we think they’re—”

“Shh!” Charlie interjects, gesturing at me.

“She’s fine.” Adam takes my hand. “She’s with me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Figures you’d end up picking up a pet.”

“Shut it, Charlotte.”

“Do. Not. Call. Me. That.” Charlie’s right hand curls into a fist.

Adam rolls his eyes at her. “So, Luke,” he says, “you think they’re what?”

Luke hesitates. “We think… we think they’re trying to convert the city.”

“Convert it into what?” I ask. They ignore me.

“But that would mean—,” Adam starts.

“Exactly,” Charlie says.

“And their plan is to launch?”

“Yes. I’ve seen the specs. They’ve got a ways to go, but still.”

“Do they know…?”

“Not that we can tell.”

“Would full conversion be possible?”

“It’s pretty clear they’ve been working on it for a long time. Having us here has just… expedited things,” she says bitterly.

“And the people below?”

“We have our theories,” Luke says, “but they all end with pretty much the same outcome.”

Adam looks at me, panic in his eyes.

“What is it?” I stand up. “What are you talking about? What conversion? What theories?”

“There isn’t time to dumb it down for her. We need to get out of here. Now.” Charlie charges over to the entrance with her arm outstretched, moving the barricade aside. She cracks open the door and peeks outside. I’m not sure when the alarm upstairs stopped sounding, but I am suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

“We’re clear,” she says.

“The ship’s on the main level,” Luke says. “It’s in some kind of shuttle bay out back. They’ve probably been messing with it, so we won’t know if it’ll still fly until we get to it.”

“What about Tom?” Adam asks.

“He’s down in the engine room, like always. Sublevel five.”

“Okay,” Adam says, “here’s what we do. We head to the ship together. Once we clear the guards, it’ll only take one of us to make sure the ship’ll fly. The other two will go get Tom, and we’ll all reconvene here. If the shuttle’s operational, great. If not, we’ll just have to figure something else out.”

Charlie and Luke nod.

“So who’s getting us airborne? Chuck?”

“Hell no,” she says. “You’re not leaving me on mechanic duty while you two get to play hero. Make Luke do it.”

“Fine,” Adam says wearily. “Luke?”

“Sure,” he says.

Adam nods, his brow furrowed in thought; Luke and Charlie look at him expectantly, like they’re waiting for instructions.

“We’ve been stockpiling all the supplies we could get our hands on. There should be more than enough,” Luke offers after a moment.

“What about her?” Charlie gestures to me with her thumb.

“Terra will stay here with the supplies. Don’t worry,” he says, turning to me, “we’ll be back for you.”

“No way. I’m coming with you.” I stand up, keeping one hand on the boxes behind me for support.

“It’s too dangerous,” Adam says, shaking his head.

“Besides, look at you. You can barely stand. You’ll only slow us down,” adds Charlie.

I ignore her and steady myself enough to stand next to Adam. “What do I have to worry about?” I say to him dismissively. “You always save me anyway.”

He sighs resignedly and laces his fingers through mine.

“Well, that was cheesy,” Charlie says.

“Look, I’m not staying here,” I tell her. “What if they find me? Then all your collective rescue attempts would have been in vain. Nobody wants that, right?” I crack a grin.

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You’d better keep up.”

“Here, take this.” Luke hands me a gun. “Keep it on stun mode. It’s better than nothing.”

I wince as I take it, remembering the immediate incapacitation my own run-in with the stunner caused. “To say the least,” I say.

Luke smiles.

“All right. Let’s move out,” Adam says.

With a movement so smooth it seems choreographed, the three of them head toward the exit. I sidestep them, blocking the door just as Adam reaches for the handle.

“Wait,” I say quickly. “Just wait. Somebody needs to explain to me exactly what is going on.”

“Terra.” Adam’s eyes blaze. “There’s no time.”

“In the past day, I have been arrested, drugged, psychologically tortured, punched in the face, knocked out, tied up, stun gunned, and dumped with the equivalent of a Skyline train’s worth of emotional cargo. I am still coming to grips with the fact that you all even exist in the first place. And, all things considered, I think I’ve been pretty damn understanding.”

Charlie sighs dramatically. I scowl at her.

“Just make it snappy,” she says.

“Okay, listen.” Adam speaks quickly, pulling me in close. “According to what they’re saying, it sounds like the Tribunal is trying to use our technology to convert this skycity.”

“So I heard. What does that mean?”

“Well, the skycities are in stasis, right? They stay in the same location.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Otherwise how would anybody know where to find them?”

“Exactly. Conversion means the city would become mobile. It would have all of the capabilities of an aircraft—able to go pretty much anywhere.”

I try to imagine an engine capable of moving an entire city. The thought is daunting, but I don’t see why it’s so horrifying to them.

“It’s not just that though.” Adam hesitates. “You know how because of the UV filter technology already in place, the environment inside each city is self-contained?”

“Um, sure?” I say, though it’s obvious I’m anything but.

“This far above the cloud layer, the temperature and oxygen levels have to be regulated,” Luke explains, “which is why the cities are fully encapsulated.”

“Oh yeah,” I say, remembering my lessons from school. “And that’s also why shuttles have to enter and exit from underneath.”

“Right,” Adam continues. “So it wouldn’t take much for a city like this to be able to sustain itself without any oxygen on the outside at all.”

I look at him blankly. “But… when would that ever happen? Under what circumstances would that possibly be necessary?”

Adam looks at Luke and Charlie uneasily. Pity and regret flash between the three of them, and the answer comes to me.

Space.

There’s no oxygen in space.

“The Tribunal wants to convert Korbyllis into a spaceship,” I say, my voice hollow.

“I know how it sounds,” Luke says quickly. “But this technology has clearly been in development for a long time. Since before the skycities were even launched, we think.”

I recall the observation complex in the biodome. The environment down there, almost entirely self-sustaining, has been able to thrive for hundreds of years. It only now occurs to me that it might very well have been a precursor to the skycities themselves.

“Skyfall,” I say.

“What?”

“The Skyfall,” I repeat. “The city of Intheria. Nobody knew what could possibly have caused an entire skycity to fall, to simply plummet to the ground without warning. What if… what if it’s because they were trying to convert it? What if it’s because something went wrong? I mean, Intheria was supposedly the stronghold for all scientific research. It makes sense that it would have been the first to undergo conversion.”

“And not only did the conversion fail,” Adam suggests, “but suddenly there was the plague to contend with, too. Which explains why it took the Tribunal centuries to recreate the technology and get back on track. And why they want us so badly.”

“Exactly,” I say. “This planet is dying. The Tribunal instills that concept in our minds before we’re even old enough to walk. They’re always stressing how few resources there are left, how important it is for us to scav, to recycle, to maintain. If we had the ability to leave, to start over…”

“You can’t possibly think it’s a good thing that we’ve been kept here, forced to work on this,” Charlie says, crossing her arms angrily.

“Don’t be absurd, Charlie. She wasn’t saying that.” Adam squeezes my hand.

“I’m horrified the Tribunal has acted this way. I’ve gotten a crash course in what they’re capable of,” I say darkly, pointing to my bruised cheek. “But you have to admit, the idea itself is kind of remarkable.”

Charlie purses her lips.

“Why all the secrecy though?” I continue. “If we’re going to be leaving Earth for literally greener pastures, wouldn’t it be more efficient to have us all—skydweller, terrestrial, whoever—working toward the same goal? Helping with the conversion? Why all the stealth, the hush money?”

I see the sadness in Adam’s eyes as he watches me work through this new information, and the answer clicks into place.

Oh.

“They’re going to leave us here, aren’t they?” My eyes widen in horror as I consider how long we would be able to survive without the skycities. They provide everything. We’d be goners within months.

A laugh bubbles up in my chest—a completely inappropriate response that I’m unable to contain. By the time it reaches my mouth, however, it comes out as a sob.

“We’re dead.”

Adam pulls me into him. “It’s not going to happen,” he says. “We won’t let it.”

“We’ve stalled their progress best we can, provided them with fake algorithms, false information,” Luke says. “They won’t be able to finish the conversion without us.”

I nod mechanically against Adam’s chest.

Charlie clears her throat. “I know this must be difficult for you to process,” she says to me, her tone surprisingly gentle. “But we really have to go.”

“Ready?” Adam asks.

I nod again, though I don’t think there’s any way I could have been ready for this. With the stunner gripped tightly in one hand, and the other hand crushing Adam’s fingers, I follow them out.

Chapter 26

We creep out into the hallway: Charlie in front, Adam at my side, Luke bringing up the rear. I keep the stunner up at chest level as we move through the halls, my finger next to the trigger. We’re almost to the stairwell when Charlie suddenly curses.

“Get back!” she whispers.

We duck into a nearby restroom just as two guardsmen pass by. I listen at the door until their footsteps fade.

Luke cracks the door open and peeks into the hall. “Just a patrol.”

We dash out of the bathroom and into an empty stairwell. Muting our footsteps as much as we can, we descend to the main floor.

“There.” Charlie points to the frosted panel inlaid in the stairwell exit door. There is a dark silhouette over the glass; a guardsman is standing on the other side.

With a wave of his arm, Adam uses his FX to knock the guard’s head back against the wall. He slumps to the floor, and Luke opens the door to drag him into the stairwell.

“Done this before, have you?” I say quietly to Adam.

Grinning, he tucks the guard’s gun into his waistband, and we exit onto the main floor.

Despite the Capital Building’s spacious, open layout, we fail to encounter any other guards or workers as we work our way toward the back of the building. The lack of activity unnerves me; the Tribunal has to know something is amiss. Even if they haven’t picked up on Charlie and Luke’s absence, the trail of incapacitated guardsmen that Adam left in the wake of his escape must have raised some alarms. So where’s the siren? The mayhem? The search party?

“This is too easy,” I whisper as we rush across yet another empty room.

“Maybe luck’s finally on our side,” Luke says. “This door should take us outside.”

“All right, remember the plan,” Adam says, halting our steps. “We need to be faster than fast. We subdue the guards, get Luke access to the ship, then make a break for Tom. Chuck, you know where he’ll be?”

Charlie nods. “What about the supplies?”

“They are not our first priority. But if we’re able to get back to them, we’ll grab what we can. Then we’re gone.”

I don’t ask where it is we’ll be going. I don’t think I want to know.

We exit into a deserted courtyard to the side of the building. The dusky light hitting the Capital Building casts long shadows over us, concealing our movement.

“That’s the shuttle bay there,” says Luke, pointing to the back of what looks like a massive metal box missing its lid. “Entrance is on the other side. They keep two guards on duty at all times, so be ready.”

“We’ll take them from both sides,” Adam directs. “Luke, Charlie, head up from the left. We’ll go right.” He looks at me seriously. “Stay behind me.”

Adam and I sneak up the side of the building, our backs flat against the wall.

He looks at me and lifts his eyebrows. I nod.

Quick as lightning, he darts around the corner. I take a deep breath before following him, only to crash straight into his back.

“What are you—,” I start to whisper, cutting myself off as soon as I look up. Ten guardsmen, guns at the ready, stand ahead of us. With a jerk of his gun, one of the guards summons us forward, lining the four of us up in front of them. I see a flash of silver behind their heads: the ship is at the back of the shuttle bay.

I stay tucked halfway behind Adam, holding my gun against my chest as if trying to bully my heartbeat into slowing down.

“So, in retrospect,” Luke says as he and Charlie line up beside us, “I take back what I said about luck.”

“We were wondering when you’d get here,” I hear from the throng of guardsmen.

The voice makes my heart jump into my throat. The guardsmen part as Wolfe walks out of the bay entrance. “What an unexpected treat. Hello again, little bird.”

My entire body seizes up and I grab Adam’s arm with my free hand. He tenses and lets out a snarl, but it takes me a second to realize it’s not on my account.

A step in front of Wolfe is a blond man with a slim build. He stares at the ground, but I don’t need to see his face to know who he is.

“Tom!” cries Charlie.

Her outburst causes an immediate reaction from the guards. All ten guns turn toward her, locking in on their target. She and Luke simultaneously pull hidden guns from their waistbands and point them back at the firing squad. I follow suit, aiming my weapon with shaking hands, while Adam raises his gun and targets Wolfe instead.

Tom looks up, and his eyes meet mine.

Cobalt. Indigo. Sapphire. Cerulean.

That bluest blue—Adam’s blue—staring right at me.

“Oh good,” Tom says tiredly as his eyes lock onto Adam. “You’re alive.”

“Hey, Tommy,” Adam says. “Good to see you, too, brother.”

“I’d drop those weapons if I were you,” Wolfe says.

“And I’d let him go if I wanted to stay alive,” Adam says darkly.

“Tsk, so hostile. What happened to all that ‘We come in peace’ stuff?”

Adam clicks the stunner safety on the side of his gun into the off position.

“Ah-ah-ah, I wouldn’t be so hasty if I were you.” Wolfe turns to the side to give us a clear view of the gun pressed between Tom’s shoulder blades.

“Now here’s how this is going to work,” Wolfe says. “You’re all going to come with us quietly, and we’re not going to kill any of you.”

Charlie lets out a single laugh.

“It’s a good deal,” Wolfe says. “I suggest you take it.”

“You won’t kill us,” she says. “You need us.”

“It’s true, Prime Whitlock did make it clear that we were not to use any fatal means of detaining you. Of course, Prime Whitlock isn’t here, is she? And she certainly wouldn’t be able to blame me if one of you was, say, putting the lives of these good men at risk.”

“You’re bluffing,” she replies steadily.

Wolfe laughs. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I guess you’ll have to ask yourself if that’s a risk you’re willing to take.” Tom inhales sharply as Wolfe presses the barrel deeper into his back.

An eternity passes. Nobody moves. The silence is deafening. I feel each rapid beat of my heart, hear each pulse in my ears. Sixteen people with fifteen guns, poised and ready. Deadlocked. One stray twitch of a trigger finger and we all go down.

“All right, fine. Since we seem to be at a bit of an impasse, allow me to further emphasize my point. I am going to disable this gun’s stunner safety. If you do not immediately drop your weapons, I will kill him. Simple as that.” Wolfe clicks his gun into kill mode; half a second later, Adam reluctantly drops his.

“Good boy. Now, the rest of you.”

Luke and Charlie lower their weapons to the ground, where they are quickly retrieved by nearby guardsmen.

“You too, little bird.”

I glower at Wolfe as I crouch down and place my gun on the grass. When I stand back up, Adam, Luke, Charlie, and Tom all have their hands raised—palms up—in surrender.

“You win,” Adam says. “We’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt him.”

Wolfe smiles—a wicked, toothy grin. “Now those are words I like to hear.” He lowers his gun from Tom’s back and shoves him forward.

In the split-second Wolfe breaks eye contact to holster his weapon, eight arms simultaneously fling downward. All fifteen guns careen out of their owners’ hands and fly into the open shuttle bay.

“No!” Wolfe shrieks.

“Now!” Adam yells.

Luke turns on the spot and sprints into the bay, making a beeline for the sleek silver ship.

With a grunt and a wave of her arm, Charlie’s FX sends six of the approaching guardsmen off their feet. Adam clotheslines one of the guards, knocking him to the ground, then body slams another. Tom throws an elbow backwards and connects with Wolfe’s nose before launching himself forward into the melee. They move like a dance: graceful, lithe, but powerful. The now-unarmed guards never stood a chance.

A lone guardsman hurtles toward me and instinct kicks in. I drop to the ground just as he’s reaching out to grab me, jutting my leg out and causing him to trip. He hits the ground face-first. I roll him over, my fingers curled into fists, but he’s already unconscious.

Luke’s victorious cry suddenly rings out from the shuttle bay, followed by the unmistakable roar of an engine. Charlie, Adam, and Tom all immediately turn and run into the shuttle bay.

“Terra, come on!” Adam shouts as he races past me.

I pick myself up off the ground, and am just about to charge after them, when I see it.

Wolfe, with one hand still blocking the blood pouring from his nose, reaches into his boot and draws a small gun. It is no stunner special. It’s old. The kind that I’ve only ever seen in movies. The kind that is actively outlawed due to the shatter risk it poses to the UV filter.

With a bloody grin, Wolfe raises the pistol and aims it directly at Tom’s back.

“No!” I cry, leaping forward. I don’t really have a goal; I know I won’t be able to reach him, won’t be able to push him out of the way. I just know that I have to do something.

The pistol goes off with a deafening bang.

I fall to the ground.

“Terra!” Adam rushes back, crouching next to me as I clutch at my right leg, a strangled cry ringing through my throat. Blood seeps out of the bullet-hole in my thigh, painting my hands red as I try to stem its flow.

Wolfe raises his gun again; with a flick of his wrist, Adam knocks the weapon out of Wolfe’s hands before slamming him backwards into the ground.

The pain is like nothing I’ve felt before. The bullet hit me high on the outside of my leg, almost at my hip. It feels like my leg is both on fire and being doused in ice. In one moment it’s burning, and the next it’s as if the same spot is being stabbed over and over.

Adam pulls off his shirt and wraps it around the wound, tying it as tightly as he can into a makeshift tourniquet. The fabric is soaked with crimson in seconds.

“Adam! Let’s go!” Charlie calls. She and Tom are already at the shuttle.

“Can you stand?” Adam says to me.

The mere act of lifting my leg is unbearable. I choke on the air as I try to breathe through the pain, but it’s too much.

“I can’t,” I sob.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you.” He throws my arm over his shoulder and raises his hand, telekinetically bearing my weight.

We’ve just gotten me upright when I hear the shouting. I look back to see a sea of black uniforms barreling toward us. Reinforcements have arrived. The wave of guardsmen begins preemptively firing off stun shots. One clips Adam in the arm and we both collapse.

I scream in pain. Adam jumps up and hooks his good arm around me. He drags me inside the shuttle bay and tucks me into a corner where the oncoming guards don’t have a clear shot.

I gag myself with my fist, biting down to muffle my wails. Falling has more than renewed my pain; it’s somehow sharper, more piercing now. Adam looks at me, his face filled with terror as the pings of missed stun shots reverberate off the bay walls. They’re getting closer.

“What do I do?” he says, his voice constricted, panicked. “What can I do?”

I bite my cheek to distract myself from the pain enough to speak. “Go. You need to get out of here.”

“No.”

“If you don’t go now, you’ll never get out.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to. I’m not the only one who needs you. Please, Adam, you have to run.”

“Adam! What the hell are you doing?” Tom’s voice is barely audible between the sound of the ship’s engine and the oncoming horde.

Adam stands. He hesitates.

“Go!” I scream.

“I will come back for you.” He kisses me fiercely before dashing to the back of the shuttle bay. He hurtles himself at the ship just as it lifts off, latching his good arm onto the rungs of a short ladder on the side. The engine’s thunderous roar vibrates in my bones. I turn my gaze back to the cavalry that has almost reached me. I put my hands flat on the ground to rotate for a better vantage point and I feel something hard beneath my palm.

I curl my fingers around Wolfe’s pistol just as the first guardsmen arrive. They don’t even notice me. The ship rising overhead throws them into a frenzy—they begin firing directly at the hull. Their shots deflect uselessly and I almost laugh, though whether it’s in response to their epic failure or because of the blood loss, I can’t say. Then, as I watch in horror, the ship spins to reveals Adam still hanging from its side, fully exposed.

No.

My arm acts of its own accord, raising the pistol and aiming it at the nearest guard, his gun pointed clearly at Adam. I close my eyes.

Bang.

There’s a yelp and the sound of rushing footsteps. I open my eyes to see one of the other guards fire off three stun shots in my direction. One grazes my outstretched hand and sends it into spasm, forcing me to drop the pistol.

The rest of the guardsmen rush toward me and I know it’s over. My leg throbs in rhythm with my heart, and the adrenaline starts to leave my body. I am simultaneously sweltering and freezing. My body is shutting down. Two guardsmen drag me out of the shuttle bay by my wrists. There is a dull pop as one of my shoulders is wrenched from its socket, but it’s nothing compared to the still-searing pain in my leg.

My vision starts to blur. I watch the ship glide away, and try to focus on what little I can see of Adam’s form, still hanging onto the side of the ship. Someone thrusts an arm down to pull him up—Tom, maybe—but blackness overtakes me and I don’t get to see what happens next.

Chapter 27

I wake in a daze. The room is too bright, and my eyes are bleary. I can’t move; something pins me to whatever I’m lying on, but when I look there’s nothing holding me down. I try to sit up, which only causes my shoulder to pulse with pain. A clear tube runs out from the inner crook of my elbow, but I can’t see what it connects to.

Two blurry figures hover over me, speaking in hushed tones.

“She’s waking up,” someone says. A man, I think.

“Do it quickly then, before she’s fully lucid,” says a second voice. Feminine, but gruff.

Firm hands grip both sides of my shoulder. There’s pressure, then a pinch, then an earsplitting wail. It takes a full second for me to realize I’m the one making the sound. The pain of my shoulder being popped back into place makes me swiftly aware of the equally excruciating pain in my leg. My panic is worsened by my inability to move in response to the agony. Tears run down my temples and mix with my hair, which is pooled loosely around my head.

“Guess we didn’t give her enough,” the man says. The pain brings coherency back to my senses and I absorb my surroundings. I’m back in the laboratory, amongst the row of cots in the back. My attendants wear white masks and caps, leaving their blue eyes exposed as they stare down at me.

“Just load her up again,” says the woman dismissively. “Enough to knock her out until tomorrow. Then the morning shift can deal with her.”

A light purple liquid runs down the tube into my arm. Warmth spreads up my body and the pain starts to dissipate. Darkness begins to close in around the edges of my consciousness again.

“Wait…” I say feebly.

Both of my attendants suddenly straighten up and turn to face the same direction. Someone is speaking, someone new, but I can’t make out what he or she is saying. As I slip under, however, I hear a familiar sound. It sounds like clacking.

* * *

When I wake up, I am sitting upright. The cot has been adjusted so that the top half is raised, giving me something to prop up against. A wire is pinned to my chest just below my clavicle, connecting me to a monitor that beeps idly. I’m wearing a baggy hospital gown. Glad to see that I can move my extremities again, I grab a fistful of the gown’s scratchy white material and rub it between my fingers. A thick bandage is wrapped around the entire upper quadrant of my leg and my shoulder throbs dully. I’m still hooked up to the IV, but whatever chemical had rendered me immobile appears to have left my system.

“Finally,” says a bored voice. “Took you long enough.”

Prime Morrigan Whitlock sits in a comfortable-looking chair next to my bed, watching me over the top of her glasses.

“Leave us.” She dismisses two guardsmen I hadn’t noticed.

“What happened?” I say groggily.

“What do you remember happening?” she asks.

“There was shooting,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to recall the last moments at the shuttle bay. “Shooting and chaos and…” The image of Adam dangling from the side of the airborne ship flashes in my mind. “They were going to kill him. They were trying to shoot him down.”

“Mmm, yes, I can see how that would be a very alarming scene to witness. Which is why, I assume, you felt the need to interfere?”

“Oh God,” I say, remembering the way Wolfe’s pistol shuddered as I pulled the trigger. The beeping on the monitor speeds up. “Did I… did I…?”

“What? Oh, you’re talking about Guardsman Yao. No, no, don’t worry, you’re not a murderer. You barely even grazed him.”

I exhale long and slow. When I inhale again, my clarity begins to return, and I finally realize exactly who it is I’m talking to. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you’re all right,” she says brightly.

“Right. Because my wellbeing is of the utmost importance to you,” I say.

“It is, Terra. At least for the time being. Your alien bodyguards may have escaped for now, but I have full confidence that they’ll be back for you.” She stands up and walks to my bedside. Clack, clack.

I glare at her.

“I will admit, their telekinetic abilities were a complete surprise. I’m impressed they managed to hide them from us for so long. Admittedly, we should have been more prepared.” She purses her lips. “Though, really, how can you prepare for something like that? Ah well. When they return for you, we will be ready.”

I try to calculate how long it could be before Adam comes back for me, trying to assess whether the Tribunal would really be able to make a stand. I can’t imagine it’ll take him more than a few days on the ground to regroup and ante up, and now that he’s reunited with the others… Finally, the odds seem like they’re in our favor.

“They barely broke a sweat taking out Wolfe’s team,” I say. “You’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll be able to recapture them. And even if you did, you can’t seriously believe they’d ever help you again. They know what you were using them for.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

I steel my expression and set my lips in a hard line. I’ve already said too much.

Prime Whitlock surveys me with raised eyebrows. “Ah. So, you’ve heard about the conversion project then.”

I loosen my clenched jaw, but manage to keep my mouth closed. I narrow my eyes at her defiantly.

“Come on, out with it,” she says. “You must have something to say about it. How much do you know?”

She’s goading me on purpose, but I can’t stay quiet. “I know you’re trying to leave this planet in the dust,” I say. “Simultaneously leaving us to rot, of course.”

A smirk flickers across her face.

“Don’t you realize that if you abandon the groundworld you will be essentially committing genocide?” I continue angrily. “The Tribunal would be singlehandedly responsible for the death of every terrestrial—over half the human race. How can you live with yourself?”

“Progress requires sacrifice, Terra. You think we’re these great villains, hell-bent on destroying your peace and happiness. But we are only trying to protect the longevity of our species. We are here to ensure the continuation of the human race, and we can’t do that on a dying planet. So yes, we want to leave. And, no, there isn’t enough room for everyone. But we are not the bad guys.”

I snort. “Covering all of this up, deceiving the people who trust you, who work tirelessly for you? Kidnapping people, holding them against their will, forcing their labor? You can’t be serious. You are tyrants. You take advantage of our trust and use our labor to fuel your own selfish plans.”

Whitlock rolls her eyes. “Take advantage of you? We give you purpose. Where would you terrestrials be without us? Before the Tribunal took control, the groundworld was a cesspool of crime and violence. At least with our guidance we’ve crafted you into something useful.”

“That’s all we’ve ever been to you, isn’t it? A means to an end.” I think back to Sixteen, to the days when Mica and I had to portion out a single can of glug just to survive until the next Rationing. I think about Hess Underwood’s crestfallen face when I saw her at the Collection. I think about Lee. How dare she act like the Tribunal has done us some kind of favor.

“We would’ve been better off without you,” I say venomously.

“You think life would be better if the government of old had survived the Skyfall? I think a government that purposefully manufactured a means to wipe out an entire group of people would be far worse to contend with. You want to talk about genocide? Let’s talk about that.”

I stare at her, confused.

“What, you don’t know about that part? You didn’t know our predecessors put the plan for conversion in motion long before we even came into the picture? At least we have the decency to let you live out the rest of your lives. Their original design included a means of separating the wheat from the chaff.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Surely someone as smart as you would have figured it out by now,” Whitlock says, feigning shock.

I stare pointedly at her. She sighs.

“The plague, Terra. Where do you think a disease that devastating comes from? It doesn’t just spring up out of thin air. It is born, cultivated, developed. In a lab. At the very instruction of your oh-so-benevolent former government. For the very explicit purpose of weeding out the weak.”

“You’re trying to tell me they created the plague to wipe out all terrestrials?”

Whitlock nods. “Of course, the experiment was poorly timed. They hadn’t prepared for Intheria’s conversion to backfire so terribly. The plague broke out when Intheria fell and, before they knew it: contagion. The disease hadn’t been perfected yet, so it devastated the skydwelling population just as much as it did below.” She takes off her glasses and wipes them on her blouse. “Ah, well, you live, you learn.”

I snap. “These are human lives you’re talking about. The deaths of millions! The future deaths of thousands!”

Whitlock cocks her head to the side. “So, you’ve finally reached your tipping point for life-changing revelations, then,” she says. “It’s about time.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to hear any more.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic, Terra.”

“Why are you even telling me this?”

“Why not? You won’t be able to tell anyone,” she says.

I stare at her. “Are you going to kill me?”

Whitlock’s mouth pops open in surprise. “Of course not! How rude to even suggest such a thing.”

I snort. “You can flippantly discuss genocide, but the thought of murdering me offends you?”

Her eyes are piercing as she looks down at me. “We are not murderers. We are survivors.”

“So what’s the plan? You’re going to keep me locked away here forever? Seems like a waste of resources.”

Whitlock sighs. “Once we are certain they are coming back for you, you will be outprocessed. Then you will be taken home.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say wearily. “But somehow I still feel like I’m missing something. If that just means more torture, I feel I should remind you that it didn’t work so well on me the first time.”

“Torture?” She laughs. “Please. We have no reason to torture you, Terra. Memory removal is a standard part of outprocessing procedure. Oh, don’t worry—” she adds as she observes the flare of my nostrils and my sudden intake of breath. “—we won’t take everything. Just anything that had to do with your extraterrestrial friends.”

My memories, gone? Adam… gone?

“Then you can live in blissful ignorance once again,” she finishes.

“So, what, once you get them back to continue doing your dirty work, you’re just going to let me go?”

“Of course, Terra. It was always our intention to return you home.”

“If you take off and leave us all to fend for ourselves, you’re killing me anyway. Why even go to the trouble?”

She rolls her ice-blue eyes. “Oh, come now. We aren’t monsters. If we killed you, who’d take care of that brother of yours?”

“Leave Mica out of this,” I say, fire rising in my chest. “He doesn’t know anything.”

“We know. We’ve already sent someone to attend to him,” she says.

I try to keep the alarm off my face, though I can’t stop my nostrils from flaring at the thought of Mica being questioned—or worse, facing an inquisition.

“We already confirmed he’s clean. A good thing, too. We wouldn’t want to risk jeopardizing that brain of his. His intellect, for someone his age, really is quite astounding. It’s funny, really; if it weren’t for you, we never would have seen his potential. I think he will end up being quite useful.”

Prime Whitlock smiles cruelly as the tablet on her waistband begins to beep. She pulls it out and reads the message on the screen. When she looks up, she is frowning.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” she says.

“What is?”

“Evidently your friends have left the party.”

I sigh. “Do you get some kind of special kick out of being cryptic? Out with it, already.”

“Our scanners are reporting that their ship has left Earth’s atmosphere. They’ve gone… home.” She places the tablet back in its holster and begins to rub her temples in frustrated circles.

“No,” I say defiantly. “I don’t believe you.”

Adam wouldn’t leave me here.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” she barks. “I’m not exactly thrilled about it either, but our scanners don’t lie. They’re gone.”

I suck in a deep, slow breath as my heart drops into my stomach. Her outrage feels real; she’s telling the truth. When Adam said he’d come back for me, I never considered that he’d go home first. It could take months to travel to wherever he’s from, let alone to come back. If he’s even planning to come back at all.

I want to pull my knees to my chest, to be able to physically brace myself against the waves of disappointment, but the shooting pain in my right leg reminds me that I can’t. I cross my arms over my chest instead.

Gone.

“Oh, don’t look so tragic. It’s pathetic,” Whitlock says. “You’re better off this way. Your relationship with that boy was based on a lie. And not some insignificant little white lie. A big, colossal disaster of a lie. One that put you, and your brother, in danger. But I don’t need to tell you this. Surely, smart as you are, you see that.” She looks deliberately at my bandaged leg as if to drive her point.

The lump in my stomach weighs my entire body down. Every part of me feels heavy and useless, like the smallest movement would cause my bones to break. Prime Whitlock’s words echo hollowly through my head, and I’m too drained to even be offended.

“So now what?” I ask apathetically. “Time to launch the Tribunal’s secret space robots in pursuit of them?”

“If only.” Whitlock exhales slowly. “We’ve barely regained the technology necessary to launch satellites, let alone to compete with a ship like theirs. So it looks we’re on our own for the conversion. Which is good news for you. Now you’ll get to live out the rest of your menial little life before we can even dream of matching the progress they made for us.”

I should be relieved. We have more time. Maybe even time enough to stop them. But even if I weren’t still absorbing the news of Adam’s departure, caring is useless. By the time I’m outprocessed, I won’t even remember there’s something that needs stopping.

“So what about me?”

“Unlike your former beloved, nothing I’ve told you has been a lie. You’ll be outprocessed as we discussed, after which you will be returned home.”

“Right,” I say tiredly.

“I’m doing you a favor here, Terra. This way, you won’t have to live with the knowledge that you’ve been abandoned by the very person you risked everything to protect.”

I fall mute.

Whitlock walks to the door and pokes her head out to address the guards. A few minutes later, the medical attendants return. I shudder as they approach.

“No hard feelings, all right?” Whitlock stands, folds her glasses into her blazer pocket, and offers her hand to me. I recoil as if her touch is poisonous.

“Have it your way.” She withdraws her hand and turns to exit the room. “Make sure you give her the full workup. I don’t care how long it takes,” she says to the attendants on her way out, her high heels clacking as she leaves.

If being outprocessed means I’ll be able to forget that sound, I think resentfully, maybe it’ll be worth it.

The two attendants flock around my cot, checking monitors and adjusting my IV. The female attendant lowers the top half of the bed until I’m lying down again.

“Try to relax,” she instructs.

There’s no point in fighting anymore. Nobody’s coming to save me. I stare up at the ceiling as one of the attendants hangs a bag of yellowish-green solution and connects it to my IV. Within seconds, my eyes are too heavy to keep open.

Goodbye, Adam.

I expect to see that familiar blackness behind my eyelids, to feel the cool, beckoning serenity of sleep. Instead, there is a flash of white—brighter than anything I’ve ever experienced—and then silence.

Chapter 28

I am in the Western Plains. At least, I think that’s where I am. My perspective seems a little skewed. I turn in a circle, trying to get my bearings, before finally catching sight of Sixteen’s black walls in the distance.

Sun poisoning, I think. Time to call it a day.

I glance up at the sky and bite the inside of my cheek. The sun is high, and I’m slightly disappointed in myself to be giving up so early. I turn to head back toward the settlement, my bag jingling with generics as I walk. At least I’m not going back completely empty-handed.

Even though I’ve done it a thousand times, climbing back over the western wall is more difficult than usual. My right leg feels stiff as I hoist myself up the black brick. It twinges at all the wrong times, and I almost slip more than once.

I hop down on the other side and massage my thigh for a few moments. I decide it might be good for me to try and loosen my legs a little, to walk it off. A quick stop at the Marketplace might be just the ticket before heading home. I should still be back long before Mica gets out of school.

The market is crowded. Busy shoppers all seem to give me the same looks of displeasure as I weave in and out of the mob. Some even actively call me names I can’t quite make out under their breath. I can guess their meaning easily enough though. I know I’ve never been the most popular person in town, but that still seems unnecessary.

“Heya, Copp,” I say as I amble up to his stall. “How’s it hanging?”

He stares at me, his lips parted in shock. “Terra?”

“Um, yes?”

“What the hell are ya doing here?” His expression instantaneously shifts. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was angry.

“What? What do you mean?” I say, taken aback. I look around, searching the bustling Marketplace for some explanation of his reaction. A few nearby shoppers stare at me with disgust. I covertly sniff myself to see if I’m giving off some specific reason for offense.

“Guess yer jaunt into the high life didn’t last too long, did it?” Copp says sharply. “I didn’t expect ya’d show yer face here again. Ever.”

“Excuse me?” The way he addresses me makes me feel like I should be apologizing, though I have no idea why. I stare at him for a few seconds, unsure of how to proceed.

“So was there something ya needed or what?”

“Well, I was planning on doing some shopping,” I say defensively. He’s clearly having a bad day, but whatever the cause of his fury, there’s no reason to take it out on me.

“If you’re not buyin’ then ya’d best be on yer way.” The muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth.

“No, wait,” I say slowly. I’m irritated, but still eager to smooth things over. “I’ll, um, I’ll take this.” I pick up the first thing I see and hand it over. Copp takes the small box out of my hands without looking at it.

“Twelve credits,” he says gruffly.

“What? Twelve?” I say, incredulous. What the hell did I grab that costs that much? “I’ll give you ten.”

“I don’t think ya want to haggle with me.”

I squirm under his glare. I’ve never seen him like this.

“Fine,” I say anxiously. I stick out my palm for him to scan and my balance flashes up on the register. Even with this splurge, our savings are still holding strong at over the 200-credit mark.

Copp crams the box into a bag and hands it back to me with a grunt. I reach for the bag and meet his eye briefly; suddenly, I’m hit with a mental picture of Copp, tipping his bowler hat. The image feels like a dream, since I can’t for the life of me remember ever seeing Copp practice such a formal gesture. The real Copp, still in front of me with his hat squarely centered atop his head, glares at me. A woman standing behind me clears her throat. I blink twice before collecting the bag and stepping aside. Whatever’s wrong with Copp, I’ll just have to try sorting it out with him later.

I quickly dip out of the Marketplace, people’s glares boring into my back as I exit. It feels like they follow me all the way home. I try to avoid catching anyone else’s eye as I speed back toward the apartment.

Once I’ve crossed through the center of town, I slow down. I reach inside the shopping bag to finally take a look at my twelve-credit purchase. I pop open the box and I’m immediately assaulted with a bouquet of sweet aromas. Three bars of colored soap are lined up in a row. I pull out the middle one—a soft, pretty purple—and read the tiny label wrapped around it.

“Lavender, huh?” I say aloud. I glance at the other two: sandalwood and jasmine. Having never smelled the actual things they’re named for, the labels mean little to me, but the soaps definitely smell good. Maybe not twelve-credits-good, but at least it’ll be a bit of a change.

I toss the soaps back in the bag and turn onto my street. A rusty motorbike is parked in front of my building.

Wonder which of my neighbors lucked into that beast, I think jealously as I pass. I walk into the building, rubbing my thigh distractedly as I climb the stairs. I could’ve used a transport today.

I open the door to the apartment to find Mica staring up at me from the kitchen table.

“Terra!” He leaps up and rushes over, wrapping his arms around me.

“Um, hi to you too,” I say, awkwardly patting him on the head. Since when is he so affectionate?

“Are you all right?”

“Huh? Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” I plop my scav bag on the table next to a pile of papers and straddle the seat backwards, resting my chin on the back. For some reason he’s pulled his computer out of his room and set it up out here. “Yeesh, Mic. This place is a tornado zone.”

He pulls his chair up and sits directly in front of me, searching my face. “Where have you been?”

“What do you mean? I was just on a scav run.”

He gapes at me, confusion etched into the creases around his eyes. I look at my baby brother carefully; something seems different about him. It takes me a second to realize what it is.

Huh, I think. I hadn’t noticed he’d been spending so much time outside. It’s the only explanation for the smattering of freckles that now run across his nose and cheeks. His skin is darker and, come to think of it, his hair is a little longer than he usually keeps it, too.

“Why aren’t you at school?” I ask suddenly.

“It’s a holiday,” he says, a little too quickly.

“Right. What holiday would that be? National Talk Out of Your Ass Day?”

“Uh, I mean, a mental health day?”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I guess one skipped day won’t kill you. But you can’t make a habit of it, Mic. You’re too smart for that.”

He nods solemnly, looking genuinely guilty. I soften my tone.

“So I stopped at Copp’s on the way back. Picked up a new set of bath bars for each of us. I call the lavender. You can have your pick of the other two.” I pull the small box out of my bag and toss it at him. Mica catches it with one hand and stares at it for a long time. When he finally looks back at me, he is frowning.

“Stay right there,” he says, putting the soaps on the table.

“Uh, okay.”

He walks over to his bedroom door but pauses before entering. As if he’s giving it some serious thought, he eventually walks over to turn on the TV before retreating into his room.

“It was kind of weird actually,” I call to him over the noise of the TV. “Copp was acting strange. Stranger than usual, I mean.”

“Oh?” Mica’s voice is muffled through the door. “Why, what did he say?”

I debate repeating Copp’s less than hospitable words, but decide it’s not worth burdening Mica just because I got my feelings hurt. “Oh, it’s not important. He just seemed like he was in a really bad mood. Wouldn’t haggle with me at all.”

Mica doesn’t respond, though I can just barely hear him mumbling inside his room. There’s a dull thump, followed by what sounds suspiciously like swearing.

“Hey! What are you doing in there?” I walk over to his door, but Mica pulls it open just as I’m reaching for the knob.

“Nothing, nothing,” Mica says. He puts his finger in his ear and wiggles it absentmindedly. Standing face-to-face with him, I realize he’s grown a good two inches without me even noticing. When did that happen?

“So, is there a special coming on or something?” I ask.

“What?” Mica looks distracted.

“The TV,” I say. “You turned it on…?”

His almond eyes refocus on my face. “Oh. Right. Yes.” With stilted steps, he goes and sits down on the couch.

“You are being weird, little bro,” I say, ruffling his hair as I join him. “So what’s on? Anything I’m going to like?”

Mica mutters something under his breath. It sounds like, “I sincerely doubt it.”

Chapter 29

I’ve only just refocused my attention on the television when there’s a knock at the door. Mica jumps up and dashes over to the window. He peers out at the street below, then sprints into his room and slams the door behind him.

“Uh, okay, I guess I’ll get it,” I say, not bothering to hide my annoyance. A woman with graying hair and light eyes is waiting at the door. A small cloth briefcase dangles from one of her hands. Beside her stands a lanky guardsman who doesn’t bother to look at me.

“Hello,” I say cautiously. “Can I help you?”

“Terra Rhodon?” the woman says pleasantly.

“Yes?”

“I am Registrar Kilburn. This is Guardsman Clay. The Tribunal is conducting a census of registered scavengers. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Um, sure.” I don’t remember a census being conducted before, at least not since I’ve been old enough to participate. Is this the reason why Copp was so on edge today? I step aside to allow the Registrar and guardsman inside. Kilburn and I take a seat around the table while Clay stands stiffly by the door.

“I, uh, apologize for the mess,” I say, pushing the papers Mica left all over the table into a sloppy pile. Registrar Kilburn smiles and shakes her head, dismissing my words. She places her briefcase on the table and fishes out a computer tablet; it chimes as it comes to life.

“Would you mind stating your name, age, and occupation for the record?”

“Terra Eryth Rhodon. Eighteen. Scav. I mean, scavenger.”

“And you live with your brother, correct?”

“Yep.”

“Is he here?”

“He’s…” I’m about to explain that he’s locked himself mid-tantrum in his room, but realize that might get him in trouble. He is supposed to be in school right now, after all. “No, he’s not home.”

Kilburn types in a note on the tablet. “Do you recall the amount of your most recent Collection payout, Miss Rhodon?”

“Don’t you guys have that kind of stuff on record?” I ask.

She smiles. “Yes, we do. This is more to get an idea of what kind of records you keep.”

“Oh.” I chew on my cheek as I try to think back to the last Collection Day. “Um, I actually can’t remember. I don’t really keep a good record of that stuff,” I admit, staring at the tabletop sheepishly.

“That’s all right,” she says kindly.

“I mean, I know how much steel we have right now,” I say. “That’s all that really matters around here, you know?”

“I understand.” She drags her finger down the computer’s screen, scrolling down. An image flashes across my mind; words and numbers scrolling across a flat screen. But the image is gone before I can make sense of it.

“Miss Rhodon?” Kilburn asks, looking at me with concern. I didn’t even realize she’d been talking. “Are you all right?”

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“I asked how many times you go scavenging on a monthly basis,” she says.

“Oh, I usually go out every day. Unless it’s raining.”

“I see. And how many times would you say you have gone scavenging since the last Collection?”

“I don’t know, how many days has it been since then?”

“Seven.”

“Then I guess I went out seven times,” I say with a shrug. I can’t remember if it’s rained recently or not, but I’m sure she can figure out the actual number.

She makes another note.

“Did you go scavenging today?”

“Yes.”

“What kinds of materials did you collect?”

“I, um…” My mouth falls open as I strain to remember. I know I went on a run this morning. I know I was in the fields, I know I climbed the wall. I just… don’t remember picking anything up. “If you give me just a second, I could tell you.” I reach for my bag, ready to show proof of my spoils.

She peers inside my bag and makes another note. “Thank you,” she says, “Is there anything of consequence that you remember finding during this last period in general?”

“I…” My mind goes blank as I try to recall my recent trips. I can’t even picture myself in the fields recently, other than today, to be honest. “Can you clarify the question?”

“Have you picked up anything unusual, anything noteworthy, on your scavenging runs since the last Collection? Plastics, tech, anything beyond generics?”

I stare at the table, my eyes wide. Why can’t I remember? I know that I’ve been scavenging—what else would I have been doing?—but I’m drawing blanks on the specifics. I interlock my fingers and squeeze my hands together to stop myself from fidgeting. “I don’t know,” I say finally.

“How about just in the past few days?”

I shake my head. She looks at me sympathetically.

“All right, thank you very much, Miss Rhodon. That’s all we need.”

“That’s it?” I say, bewildered.

She nods as she tucks the tablet back into her briefcase.

“But I couldn’t answer any of your questions.”

“We have all the information we need,” she says. “Thank you for your time.”

“Uh, okay, bye!” I call as they whisk themselves out the door. The floor creaks as Mica finally comes out of his room.

“Welcome back,” I say. “So glad you could join us.”

“Sorry, just didn’t feel like wading through all that.”

“It was just some survey thing. It didn’t really concern you anyway, it’s not like you had to run and hide.”

He chews his lip for a second. “Well, thanks for covering for me, about school. You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrug. “You’d have done the same for me.”

“Yeah,” he says earnestly. “I would.”

“Man, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind is totally blank. I must have gotten some serious sunstroke today. Or I’m just going insane.” I laugh, trying to cover up my fear that the latter might be true. I plop down on the couch and switch the television back on as a distraction.

A Best Pet showcase is on TV. I smile a little; a pet owner is pulling on a leash connected to a curly-haired pink poodle as she tries to convince it to cross the arena floor. The owner is visibly frustrated—her cheeks are red, the sheen of sweat glistens on her forehead—as the pup plants its rear on the ground in defiance. It chirps angrily at its owner. The sound is strangely familiar. I cock my head to the side, trying to place the animal’s cry; I’ve never seen a pet in real life before, but there’s just something about the sound. Suddenly, Mica grabs the remote and turns the television off.

“Hey, what gives?” I say, trying to snatch the remote back from him.

He kneels in front of me and puts his hands on either side of my face. He stares unblinkingly into my eyes, his forehead inches away from my own.

“Ack, what are you doing?” I yell, throwing his hands back into his lap.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, slumping onto the sofa. “I was just checking for something.”

“Yeesh, for what? If there’s something on my face, you can just tell me, you know. Use your words.”

“No,” he says sadly, flipping the TV on again. “There’s nothing there.”

Chapter 30

“Wake up, sis, there’s something I want to show you.”

Mica stands against the doorframe in my bedroom, kicking my mattress with his foot. A quick glance toward the window tells me it’s that time of day that just barely qualifies as morning.

I groan and pull the covers over my head. I’m so exhausted. I’ve been working myself into the ground, spending every day in the field to prepare for yesterday’s Collection. Things have felt a little off over the past week. When I haven’t been scavenging, Mica’s insisted on taking me all over Sixteen for the most random reasons—window shopping in the North Q, walking the docks in the East, going with him to meet Juniper Coal—honestly, of all people—in the West Square. As if that weren’t enough to deal with, Copp’s sour mood seems to have spread through the rest of the settlement, and people have been even nastier to me than usual. I know I’ve never been the settlement’s most prized citizen, but even Mal has been curt with me lately. Channeling my frustration into scavenging has definitely helped, but given everything, I was really looking forward to sleeping in for once.

“Go away, it’s too early,” I moan.

Mica kicks the bed harder, actively jostling me out of place.

“Whaaaaat?” I flip the blanket off me and throw my pillow in his direction. “This seriously can’t wait a couple of hours?”

“Nope,” he says, grinning animatedly. He looks so excited; I have to actively fight against smiling. I don’t want him thinking that shaking me awake before the sun has fully risen is acceptable behavior.

“Get dressed quick, okay? We gotta go.” He shuts the door and I hear him rustling about in the main room. I think I hear him talking to himself, but when I listen harder there’s nothing. First, the weird memory problems, and now I’m hearing voices. The strange mental images popping in and out of my head haven’t stopped. I feel like I live in a constant state of having forgotten something important, only there’s no way to remember what it is I forgot.

I really am going insane, I think.

As soon as I get out of bed, I stub my toe on the dresser. I swear under my breath as I pull out the first clean things I find. I can’t help feeling like this is some twisted revenge scenario for all the times I forced Mica to wake up early.

“Happy?” I mutter as I join him in the main room.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

I look down at my worn teal t-shirt—one of my most comfortable—and navy pants. They’re not the most flattering picks, but it’s not like there’s anyone I’m trying to impress.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask warningly. Mica wears a dark hoodie and black pants. He’s not looking particularly fancy either.

“Your socks don’t even match.”

I look down to see two starkly different shades of blue staring up at me from each foot. “So? It’s the crack of dawn, Mic. Fashion is not my first priority.”

“Okay, okay, yeesh. Forget it.”

“This had better be worth it,” I say petulantly.

“I hope so too,” he replies, suddenly serious.

I lace up my boots and we amble out the front door. When we get outside, Mica immediately walks over to the motorbike still parked in front of the building.

“What are you doing? Don’t mess with that,” I warn.

He throws a leg over and straddles the bench in the middle.

“Mica!”

“Chill out, sis. It’s mine.”

“What?”

He turns the bike on; it hums loudly. “Hop on.”

I simply stare at him.

“Oh, come on.”

I don’t move, and after a second he fires up the bike.

“I’m going with or without you, so you might as well come along. You know you can’t resist an opportunity to lecture me on my driving skills,” he goads.

The bike’s electric engine hums loudly, stirring another sense of strange familiarity in my mind. Inexplicably, I suddenly want to go for a ride. I hesitate, but eventually climb on behind Mica. As soon as my butt hits the seat, we take off.

“Want to try explaining this?” I yell over the wind.

“It was a gift,” he yells back.

I want to ask him exactly what he means by that, but it’s too hard to keep up conversation on the moving bike. I’ve just resigned myself to waiting until we reach whatever surprise destination he’s hauling me off to, when he starts to slow down. We putter to a stop in front of the North Gate.

“So you want to try explaining this monstrosity one more time?” I say as we wait for the guards to open the gate.

“There’s nothing to explain. It’s ours. It was a present.”

“I think I’d remember being gifted a transport.”

“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he mutters.

“And just who was this alleged benefactor, may I ask?”

A gate guardsman interrupts us before Mica can answer.

“What is your purpose for leaving the settlement?” the guardsman asks sternly.

“Time for me to learn the family business,” Mica says casually. “My sister is taking me out scavenging.”

I’m half a second from protesting, when Mica digs his fingernails into my arm. I close my mouth as quickly as I opened it.

The guardsman gives us a thorough once-over before reluctantly opening the gate.

As soon as we’ve cleared the settlement, Mica turns the bike south. He drives straight through the fields and toward the Dead Woods.

“Where are we going?” I shout. He holds his hand up to his ear and points to indicate he can’t hear me. Finally, we reach the edge of the Dead Woods and Mica slows to a stop. He parks the motorbike against a large, misshapen tree.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous, Mic. What are we doing out here?”

“I told you, there’s something you need to see.” He reaches under the seat of the transport and tucks something into the waist of his pants, but pulls the back of his sweatshirt down before I can see what it is. Without another word, he sets off into the woods.

“Enough is enough, Mica!” I theatrically stamp my foot on the ground. “You need to tell me where we are going right now!”

“God, he was right, your constant questioning really is annoying,” Mica says, stepping over a large tree root poking out of the ground.

“Who was right?”

Mica shoots me an exasperated look. “That’s not how you’re going to get answers.”

I press my lips together into a line, trying to determine the cause of my little brother’s newfound insolence. Puberty, I think sarcastically.

We walk through the forest in silence, and I wonder how Mica is so sure of where he’s going. I’ve only brought him out to the woods with me once before.

My breathing becomes labored and my leg twinges as we clamber over thick roots and fallen trunks. Eventually, the thick trunks begin to space out again, and I can see a small clearing in the distance. Mica seems to be heading straight for it.

As we get closer, I see the figures of three men sitting in an uneven triangle. It sounds like they’re laughing. I start to wonder if there’s some kind of scav meeting happening that I don’t know about. But if that was the case, why would we need to come all the way out here?

I lag a few yards behind Mica, squinting to see if I recognize Mal’s salt-and-pepper hair or Chrys’ telltale Mohawk, but there’s nothing familiar about any of the men. From here, their shaved heads and long, tattered jackets make them look almost indistinguishable from each other.

It’s not until we’ve almost reached the clearing that I realize exactly who they are.

Raiders.

Chapter 31

“Mica! What are you doing?” I call out in a whisper, reaching for him. He’s just a step too far ahead of me though, and he’s speeding up. The raiders haven’t seen us yet. If I can just get Mica to turn around, we could run. We’d have enough of a lead on them to get back to the bike, even if they decide to pursue us. But Mica doesn’t break his stride. He steps confidently into the clearing, unaffected by my panic.

All three raiders look up at the same time. They stand up defensively as Mica walks right up to them. Cursing under my breath, I ignore my instinct to run back into the cover of the trees, and I follow my brother into the clearing.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Mica says brightly.

“What do you want, shrimp?” The big guy in the middle cracks his knuckles threateningly.

“C’mon, Ryk, I thought you were expecting me.”

My mouth falls open in shock. Mica, on a first-name basis with raiders? I pinch myself to check if I’m dreaming, and am decidedly disappointed when it turns out I’m not.

Ryk grits his teeth but nods, releasing his fingers from the fists they’ve formed. “Right. Didn’t think he’d send someone like you. So what’s the deal?”

“I brought you something,” Mica says invitingly. He turns toward me and jerks his head, summoning me forward.

My body seizes up, rooting me to the spot. Mica sighs and walks over to me. I stare at him in alarm. Whatever game he thinks he’s playing, it’s a dangerous one. These raiders could crush both of us into pieces. I search my brother’s face, looking for a sign, for some kind of explanation for his apparent madness.

Mica winks at me, then grabs my wrist and drags me toward the raiders.

Ryk’s lips curl into a villainous smile as I approach. My body tenses up, my fight-or-flight response already starting to kick in. One of his lackeys starts to laugh, a dumbfounded sound, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. The other just stares at me with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Hey there, firecracker. Didn’t think I’d be seeing your pretty face again.” Ryk runs his tongue slowly over his upper lip, instantly repulsing me.

“Do I know you?” I say coldly, my voice revealing equal parts disgust and confusion.

“What, no love for an old pal?”

“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I say, though as the words leave my lips, I wonder if they’re true. There’s something familiar about the way the heavy golden chain around his neck bounces against his bare chest. Like something out of a dream—the kind of detail that’s gone within moments of waking.

He lumbers towards me. “I know you remember me.”

Regardless of whether we’ve met before, it’s clear this is a guy I don’t want to know. “Nope, sorry,” I say. I take a step back and collide with Mica, who’s standing right behind me.

Ryk grabs me by my shoulders and I brace to defend myself. Before I have a chance to, though, Mica knocks Ryk’s hands off of me and steps between us.

“What gives?” Ryk says angrily.

That’s exactly what I’d like to know, I think, watching Mica with alarm.

“Don’t touch her,” Mica says sternly. The juxtaposition between the two of them is ludicrous. Ryk dwarfs Mica in both height and girth. The raider makes my brother look like even more of a child than he is.

“You don’t make the rules, kid. Me and her, we got unfinished business.”

“This is an experiment,” Mica says coolly. “We’re not here so you can regain your badassery after getting your butt kicked by a girl.”

Ryk’s eyes darken.

“Anything?” Mica asks, turning around to address me.

“I feel like I’m missing something kind of crucial,” I say through clenched teeth, “because I don’t have any idea what the hell we’re doing here.”

Mica frowns.

Ryk growls and his lackeys edge in closer to their boss. “I don’t have time for this. Move aside, shrimp, or you’re going down too.”

I gasp as Ryk pulls his fist back, aiming for the back of Mica’s head. I try to shove my brother out of the way, to take the blow myself, but Mica just sighs resignedly. He stays rooted to the spot, barely moving against the force of my desperate push; he’s a lot stronger than I realized. In a movement so quick it shocks me, he whips around and pulls a stun gun from his waistband. He fires off three successive shots before Ryk even has time to land the blow.

The three raiders fall to the ground, convulsing.

“Well, this was a huge waste of time,” Mica says unhappily.

“Give me that,” I shout, yanking the stun gun out of his hands. “Where the hell did you get this?”

Mica just looks at me, studying my face hopefully. A moment later, he looks away, his expression deflated. Infuriated, I stomp back into the woods, stepping cleanly over Ryk’s shuddering body, and I don’t speak again until we’ve arrived back home.

* * *

“What is your problem, Mic?” I’ve barely stepped inside the apartment before I let loose. “What was that? Is this some new thing you kids are playing at school? Seeing who’s brave enough to cross the quarantine line got old, so now you’ve all moved onto antagonizing raiders? You could’ve gotten us killed!”

Mica watches me with the edges of his mouth turned down. “I just don’t get it. I thought for sure that would trigger something.”

“What are you talking about?” I scream. I’m so frustrated I could pull my hair out. As it is, I settle for twisting it into a too-tight bun.

“Things didn’t go quite as planned, huh?” A voice echoes out from behind me. I spin around to find a stranger seated at our kitchen table. Even sitting, I can tell he’s tall. Blond hair peeks out from beneath a black cap, the brim low over his face, and he wears a gray windbreaker zipped all the way up to his neck.

I immediately push Mica behind me and raise the stun gun, pointing it directly at the intruder. The gun feels simultaneously foreign and familiar, confusing and alarming me further.

“Who are you?” I demand. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Uh, Terra?” Mica says, peeking out from behind me. He looks mildly amused. “It’s okay. He’s a friend.” He tugs the gun out of my grip and lays it on the table.

“How did he—,” I start to say, but Mica interrupts me before I can even finish my thought.

“Could you just give us a second?” he says to me.

My expression shifts instantly into one of indignation. I storm into the bathroom and slam the door. I wait a few moments, then turn the tap on and press my ear to the door. If I don’t breathe too loudly, I can just make out some of what they’re saying.

“What are you doing here?” Mica says gruffly, keeping his voice low.

“Did you expect me to stay away forever?” the stranger replies.

“This is suicide. If they find you here, we’re all—”

“They won’t. The tail followed you both the second you left the building. I watched them go.”

“That doesn’t mean nobody saw you.”

“If they thought for a second that I was here, we both know they’d already be breaking down the door.”

Mica falls silent for a few seconds.

“Besides,” the stranger continues, “I’m not the one we should be worried about here. You risked both of your lives today and it didn’t even work. Not to mention the suspicion it could have raised with the guardsmen.”

“Yeah, well let’s not forget whose idea this was in the first place!”

“You just have to be careful, Mic. We have to keep up appearances. They can’t ever know that you know.”

“I… I know,” Mica says, embarrassed.

“I guess we’re just lucky you’re a much better actor than your sister.”

They start to laugh, but quickly seem to realize how much their voices have risen. They quiet down and I jerk away from the door. I rip open the bathroom cabinet and then slam it closed to make a show of washing my hands and brushing my teeth. Hopefully it’s loud enough for them to think I haven’t been eavesdropping. By the time I return my ear to the door, their conversation is dying down.

“Fine. Have it your way. It’s your funeral.” I’ve never heard Mica speak so cavalierly to anyone, other than me.

I flush the toilet for good measure and they instantly shut up. A few seconds later, I saunter back out into the living room. They stand by the couch next to each other, having just turned to face me.

“So, Mic, who’s your friend?” I ask guardedly.

The stranger removes his cap, and I am shocked to see bright blue eyes gazing at me. His clothes are normal, and he’s missing the usual aura of superiority, but there’s no denying it: he must be a skydweller.

“Hello, Terra,” he says, his voice like velvet now that it’s no longer muffled by the bathroom door.

“Um, hi,” I say.

All signs of their argument have disappeared from their faces. The two of them watch me intently.

“Do I know you?” They’re the same words I said to the raider Ryk less than an hour ago, but the meaning behind them feels completely different. Somehow, impossibly, it feels like I do. Or at least, like I should. He looks too young to be a Collection Agent, and he certainly lacks the bored authority of a guardsman.

Where have I seen him before?

The skydweller smiles, but there’s so much sadness behind his eyes I almost want to run over and hug him. “I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Oh.” I hesitate. His conversation with Mica was bizarre, but I don’t feel any animosity coming from him. And at least it sounds like he knows what that whole raider thing was about. If Mica won’t tell me, maybe this stranger will. “Well, any friend of Mica’s and all that.”

“Thank you. Actually, if you don’t mind, I came here to talk to you.”

“To me?” I say, my confusion palpable. “Er, okay.” I walk over slowly and take a seat at the kitchen table. The skydweller follows me and occupies the same chair he had been waiting in when we arrived, shifting it so he faces me head-on. I expect him to start speaking, to ask whatever he means to ask, or say whatever he came here to say, but he just looks at me.

“So…” I say finally, breaking the awkward silence, “what can I do for you?” The words feel silly tumbling out of my mouth.

He smiles, a sort of lopsided smile, one side of his mouth higher than the other. It’s surprisingly endearing. “I have something to show you,” he says.

I shoot a quick, piercing glance at Mica as if to say, Where have I heard that before?

The skydweller doesn’t seem to notice. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, delicate silver bracelet. No, not a bracelet. A watch. He holds it up for me to see.

“That’s very beautiful,” I say, wondering what his end game is.

He places the watch in the center of my palm, face up. I pause for a moment, tilting my head as a memory fights its way to the front of my mind.

“What?” Mica says eagerly. “What is it? What are you thinking?”

“It’s just… it’s funny, this looks almost exactly like one our mother used to wear.” I run the pad of my pointer finger in a circle around the edge of the watch face.

“Oh.” Mica exchanges a look with the stranger.

The skydweller smiles. “It’s yours then,” he says. He gently plucks the watch out of my palm and begins to wrap the delicate silver links around my wrist.

“Oh, no, please. I couldn’t possibly accept this.”

“I insist.”

Tick, tick, tick. The needle-thin second hand makes a complete circle as I stare at the watch face. It’s like something is trying to edge its way into my mind.

I look up into the stranger’s blue eyes. It’s almost like the colors are shifting right in front of me—different hues compete, pushing each other out of the way over and over again. They’re not just blue. They are cobalt and indigo, sapphire and cerulean.

Somewhere outside of my reverie, Mica coughs quietly. He rushes a hand up to his mouth as if he can’t believe he’s made a sound. I notice it happening, but I don’t bother wondering what it means. I’m too consumed by what’s happening inside my head. I can feel my mind grasping at the fog, blindly trying to force through the recesses of my memory.

The skydweller leans forward and touches his forehead to mine, a gesture far too intimate for strangers. I should be alarmed. I should recoil. I should be upset, repelled, or, at the very least, weirded out.

But I’m not. I simply stare at the watch and let him take my other hand in his.

Tick, tick, tick.

“Terra,” he breathes.

Something clicks in my brain. My heart instantly plummets to the bottom of my stomach, and I feel my face start to flush with new color.

I pull my head back and look up to meet his unparalleled eyes.

“Adam.”

Chapter 32

Adam’s face breaks into his lopsided grin as I fall forward off my chair and crash into his arms, sobbing. I don’t even know why I’m crying; I can’t identify one singular emotion. I feel everything: happiness and desolation and relief and confusion and… love.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave me,” I cry into his chest.

“Never,” he says.

I look over at Mica, who is grinning like a lunatic. I force myself to break from Adam’s embrace, standing up so I can hug my baby brother. Then I slap him on the chest, hard.

“Ryk?” I say hysterically. “Really?”

Mica bursts out laughing. “Don’t look at me! It was your boyfriend’s idea.”

“I apologize for nothing,” Adam says. He stands from his chair to wrap his arms around me. I lean back into the warmth of his chest, and he nestles his chin in the dip between my neck and shoulder. “Nothing else seemed to be working. We were kind of getting desperate.”

“Leave it to my sister for a guy to affect her more than near-death raider-related trauma,” says Mica.

I try to laugh but I’m still crying, so it comes out as a half-gargled moan. I pull myself together, wiping the tears from my cheeks as I try to make sense of what’s just happened. I run my fingers over my thigh and press gingerly on the spot where the bullet entered. I remember the pain as if I had just been shot yesterday, but I feel nothing now.

I whirl around, dislodging myself from Adam’s arms. “How long was I gone?” I demand.

Adam and Mica exchange shamefaced looks.

“How long?”

Adam sucks in a slow breath, like he’s afraid to tell me.

“It’s been three months since my birthday,” Mica says finally.

I feel the wind knock out of me. Three months. A quarter of a year. So much lost time.

I take a shocked step forward, breaking out of Adam’s arms, and stumble into my chair. “How did I not realize…?” I say quietly as I sit. “How could I not notice that my life simply jumped from one date to another?”

“Do you remember anything that happened during your outprocessing?” Adam asks, taking my palm in his and running his thumb soothingly across the back of my hand.

I think back, trying to conjure the last memory I have of being in Korbyllis. Besides Whitlock’s malevolence, though, the only thing I come up with is a white flash.

I shake my head.

“We don’t know how they did it,” Adam continues, “but if the Tribunal has the ability to wipe memories, they must have a way to control reintegration, too. Maybe nothing so powerful as to implant new memories, but enough to alleviate suspicion. It’d be too conspicuous otherwise.”

“What about everyone else? Didn’t anybody notice? Didn’t anyone care that I just—poof!—vanished?” I say.

“Oh, the Tribunal thought of that,” Mica says coldly. “You’d been gone less than a day when a couple of guardsmen goons showed up and fed me a story about how you had taken off to Lexicon with all our steel.”

“Me, gone off to gamble away our savings in a casino? Yeah, that sounds right up my alley. You didn’t believe them, did you?”

“Of course not,” he says, though he is suddenly unable to tear his eyes from the floor.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t believe them at first. Honest.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I tried finding out what happened, I asked everyone. But you gotta see it from my side, Terra. Both of you were just gone. And the longer time went on, the longer you stayed gone… it started to make more sense. And when this guardsman came by to drop off your stuff—the watch, your jacket—it really did seem like you’d just taken off. I checked our bank account, too, and it was drained. Well, drained back to normal, I should say. They left me enough to get by. But the pieces fit, you know? Plus, I was already kinda pissed. I mean, you did miss my birthday.” He grins, but I can see real emotion behind his attempt to relieve the tension.

I look at him sadly. His face falls, remorse swimming in his golden-specked eyes. Our eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

I smile and shake my head. “No, it’s okay, Mic. Really. I’m the one who should apologize. I left you here, alone.”

“It’s not as if you had a choice. And anyway, it wasn’t so bad. A little boring, maybe, but everyone has been really supportive.”

“So I guess that explains all the extra vitriol coming my way from Copp… and our neighbors… and pretty much everyone.”

“Word spread fast, like it always does. The story’s a little different depending on who you ask—some people remember Adam and thought you guys ran away together, some think you went to another settlement instead of the skyworld—but the gist is always the same. People weren’t really thrilled with the idea that you’d left me here. They…”

“They what?”

He fidgets with the string on his hoodie. “They said it was just like you to follow in his footsteps.”

My hands curl into fists at my side. The thought of being compared in any way with my father, let alone like this…

“How did I not hear about this?” I say angrily. “My return must have been the talk of Sixteen, and people are obviously still angry, but it’s not like anyone’s come up and thrown paint on me.”

“You know how it is, sis. People love to talk, but actual confrontation? Forget it. They all know you’d kick their asses.” Mica grins widely at me, and I can’t help but smile. “Anyway, we should all be relieved nobody said anything to you. You probably would have thought you were going nuts.”

“I was starting to think it anyway…” I mutter, then add, “I’m still sorry you thought I left you.”

Mica waves his hand in the air like he’s batting away my apology. “It wasn’t that long before Adam came back. Pretty much jumped me in an alley. I almost didn’t believe his story at first but, well, there are a lot of things about Adam that seem unbelievable.” Mica punches Adam on the shoulder affectionately. “That’s when we started planning how to get you back.”

“How did you even know I was still alive?”

“We figured they wouldn’t have concocted this big backstory if they were only going to do you in. I mean, they could have said you had an accident or something, you know? Could have just told me that you died.”

We fall silent.

“I can’t believe I’ve been gone so long,” I say after a few moments, looking at Mica sadly. The physical changes he’s gone through are more evident now. It’s not just the additional height, or the length of his hair. He seems different. Like he’s grown up twice as fast while I was gone.

“We were shocked they kept you so long, too,” Adam admits. “My guess is it had something to do with your injuries. They must’ve wanted to make sure you were completely healed, so you wouldn’t be triggered.”

“Ha,” I scoff, tracing a circle around the phantom bullet hole in my thigh, “I guess they’re not as good as they think they are.”

“We wanted to get you back, sis. More than anything,” Mica says. “It’s just that planning for that became much more difficult than we thought it would be.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve been watching him,” Adam says. “It didn’t take long for Mica to figure out he was being tailed, but it was always unpredictable. One guard, two guards, people pretending not to be guards, different times, different places… we couldn’t figure out a pattern, a workaround. I guess that was probably the point.”

“They know how smart you are, Mic. Prime Whitlock told me so herself,” I say, my pulse accelerating as I recall her threats. “The Tribunal probably knew you’d be able to figure out any kind of regular schedule.”

A smirk flashes across Mica’s mouth, just for a second. “Well, whatever the reason for my extra special security detail, clearly my hands have been pretty much tied,” he says, with something that looks suspiciously like pride lingering in his eyes. “And with Adam not exactly being able to walk into the Skyline ticket office and hop on the next shuttle to Korbyllis, planning your rescue was a little challenging.”

“If they’ve been keeping tabs on you,” I say, “how have the two of you been communicating?”

Mica scoffs. “Oh, please. We’ve got alien tech on our side, Terra.” He pulls a tiny, flesh-colored earpiece out from inside his ear. “Kind of puts skydweller phone implants to shame, doesn’t it? All of the convenience, none of the Tribunal getting to listen in.”

“So what do we do now?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Adam says, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I really don’t think he does. “We’ve been focused on saving you for so long, it hasn’t left much time for follow-up.”

“Well, obviously we have to do something. The Tribunal is planning on taking off to space without us,” Mica says angrily.

My stomach drops as I remember.

“Even if it’s a hundred years before they can actually do it,” Mica continues, “that’s a hundred more years of babies, and their babies’ babies. A hundred years’ worth of people to kill.”

Adam nods gravely. “And yet they feel they’re champions of mankind.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I feel like there’s something more to it, something else Whitlock told me. But my mind is still clearing through the fog. “I think we already know what the next step needs to be,” I say.

“Yeah,” Mica says. “Making sure the Tribunal never, ever finds out you remember. If they ever realize either of us knows what we know—”

“No, Mic, we have to make sure we’re not the only ones who know.”

“What are you saying?”

“We have to tell the Council, to tell everybody. We need to spread word to the other settlements. If all of us know the truth, we might have a fighting chance of stopping them!” I stand up and start to pace, too worked up to sit, before remembering the clacking sound of Whitlock’s high heels. I force myself to stand still, though I can’t keep from bouncing a little.

“Fighting is right,” Mica says. “Think about what you’re saying. You’re talking about revolution. Anarchy.”

“So? Maybe we need a revolution! Our government has been plotting to literally leave us for dead. We can’t stay silent.”

“So, what, a girl who everyone thinks just came back from a gambling spree, her kid brother, and an alien insurgent are going to save the world?” Mica says. “This isn’t something we can just scream from the rooftops. Even if we didn’t get swept up by the Tribunal the second they realized what we were doing, why would anyone even believe us?”

“But—”

“We aren’t revolutionaries, sis.”

“So you’d rather have us, what, sit back and watch TV? Go back to school, to scaving, and just hope that somebody else eventually figures it out?”

Mica exhales with an annoyed huff and throws his hands into the air. “Well, if there was any doubt as to whether she really is back… You have fun, Adam.”

“We do have to be smart about this though,” I continue, ignoring my brother as he skulks into his room and shuts the door halfway. “Mica’s right about one thing: If the Tribunal finds out you’re still here—I still can’t believe the risk you took—or if they find out that I remember, we’re just going to find ourselves in the same position as before. Well, actually, they’d probably be a lot angrier. So, worse than before.”

“Terra.” Adam takes my hand.

“I don’t even know where we would start.”

“Slow down for a second.” He pulls me over to the couch and directs me to sit down next to him.

“What?” I look at him, annoyed. “We have to figure out what to do. We have to prepare ourselves.”

“Yeah, well, there’s something else we’re going to need to prepare for first,” he says, lowering his eyes.

I bring his hand up to my cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the others. Charlie, Luke.” He tightens his jaw. “Tom.”

My mind floods with memories. Dark eyebrows framing a kind expression. Being handed a silver gun. Red hair, cascading down a woman’s back, paired with a distinct feeling of distaste. And blue eyes—Adam’s blue—peering at me from someone else’s face.

“Luke, Charlie…” I say, more memories returning. “Your brother!” I suddenly exclaim. “I can’t believe your brother is part of your research team. Where are they? Have you all been staying together? Where? And what have you been doing this whole time?” New images take over my memories. I picture the four of them, holed up in some underground hideout. Sneaking supplies, planning insurrection… whatever it is that rebels do.

The stern set of Adam’s mouth softens and I see the lopsided edge of a grin playing on his lips. “Always with the questions.”

“They’re all right, aren’t they?” I ask.

“Oh, they’re just fine,” he says bitterly.

My brows crease in confusion.

“They’re not here,” he says, his eyes darkening. “They left.”

“They’re not here? They left?” I repeat inanely.

Adam jerks his jaw downward in a single nod. His eyes—darker than usual—are fixed on my face, carefully judging my reactions.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“It didn’t even take them a full day to decide you weren’t worth saving,” he spits.

“Oh. They’re gone-gone. Like Whitlock said.”

“They took the ship and turned tail.” The muscles in his neck flex threateningly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, linking my fingers behind his neck and pulling him close. I don’t need to imagine the depth of the betrayal he feels. Or the shame. I felt it too, when I thought I was the one who had been left behind. “You stayed for me, this is my fault.”

Adam shakes his head, unlocks my grasp, and leans back. “No,” he says solemnly, taking hold of my hands again. He inhales slowly, his nostrils flaring, then blows the air out through his lips. I watch him as he breathes deeply, in and out.

“Adam?” I say tentatively, not knowing if I’m supposed to break his meditation. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”

“There’s more. Something I didn’t know until just a few days ago myself.”

I brace myself. “What is it?”

“I got confirmation that they made it back. Made it home. And they told the President everything, including how I elected to stay behind. I doubt folks will be too thrilled about that, but that’s not really the issue.”

“What is, then?”

“I wasn’t lying when I told you our original mission was to fact-find and observe,” Adam says. “It was. And it wasn’t for invasion or destruction or any of the ridiculous things Whitlock said. But I never did explain why we were sent here in the first place.”

My fingers feel cold; blood drains from my extremities, pumping through my rapidly beating heart and in my ears. I almost don’t want to ask, but I know I have to. “Then what was the reason?”

“They needed to know it was safe. Safe to return.”

I stare at Adam in confusion, his blue eyes blazing.

“My people,” he says. “They’re coming back.”

The story continues in Book II

Acknowledgements

To my wonderful family: Thank you for never laughing (to my face) when I said I wanted to be a writer. Thank you for your inspiration, ability to wade through innumerable revisions, and for allowing me to talk ad nauseam about this book. I love you.

To Aileen Brenner: Thank you for being just as obsessed with—and neurotic about—this book as I am. Without you, Terra would be a (sappy, saccharine, way totes lame) shell of itself. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

To Ai Rei Dooh-Tousignant, Lena Horn, Cassie Johnston, Courtney Packard, Maggie Patrick, Lori Renner, Lara Tal: Thank you for letting me take advantage of you. I mean, of your expertise. Your help was absolutely invaluable.

To my other friends: Thank you for continuing to tell me how you couldn’t wait to read my book (no matter how facetiously). And thank you for allowing me to whine… a lot.

To my fantastic, awe-inspiring, and loyal blog readers: Thank you for pushing me to pursue my passions. Without your daily encouragement—with regard to numerous aspects of my life—this book might never have been written.

And finally, to Harry and Daxter, the best—if barkiest—dogs in the world: Thanks for being adorable distractions each time I very nearly went insane from hours of staring at an open Microsoft Word window.

About the Author

Gretchen Powell spent her childhood growing up in far-off places. She is a lover of books both young and adult, but her favorite genre combines those terms.

Her creative process involves copious amounts of Sour Patch Kids and sleeping fitfully.

She lives in Northern Virginia with her two adorable miniature schnauzers. They wear many sweaters.

Terra is her first novel.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32